


Shattered

by Maia_Nebula



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: And when you think it's getting better, Angst with a Happy Ending, Definitely canon-divergent, Enjoy!, Featuring heavy angst and horrible decision-making skills, In fact it gets worse - TW for child abuse (short scene), It also includes a medically-accurate ER visit, M/M, Oops - update: some unwanted sexual advances (sorry!), Rated M for prescription drug abuse, Set post-Cookie Monster (the gun incident), So it's understandable that TJ ends up giving up after all of this, Sorry in advance :), Starts with a short prologue and then all turns to sh-t, TJ whump!, and TJ's accused of something he didn't do, as TJ slowly but surely crumbles, because I'm gonna break TJ, it doesn't, it gets better though, making him lose everything, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maia_Nebula/pseuds/Maia_Nebula
Summary: Hey, everyone! Just a heads up in case you didn't read the tags: I'm gonna mess TJ up :)It starts with a short prologue to ease you into things and then, slowly but surely, all hell breaks loose. Last chance to turn away!Summary:But Cyrus was no longer smiling when Reed pulled out the gun as he stood, frightened, by TJ’s side.





	1. Prologue

“I can’t believe you _own_ your own dirt bike.”  
“Well, that’s kinda what I implied when I said we’d use mine,” TJ replied with a laugh. Cyrus elbowed him playfully.  
“It’s just… I don’t know anyone else who has one. Jonah said they usually cost about two grand.”

TJ smiled. He could tell Cyrus was curious, but didn’t dare to ask, and took pity on him.  
“What can I say, my grandparents spoil me.”

Cyrus chuckled.  
“And here I was, about to start working at the gym.”  
“Can you imagine?” TJ grinned. “Nah, my paycheck is for random things, like baby taters at The Spoon.” He nudged Cyrus at this, making Cyrus' bike hit a hole in the sidewalk. Cyrus frowned at him briefly. “I’m saving up for a helmet, though.”  
“But you already have one, and it's new.”   
“Yeah, but I want a Bell Moto-9 Flex.” Cyrus looked at him nonplussed, so he stopped, propped his dirt bike against himself and took out his phone. “Hang on.” 

Seconds later, he showed Cyrus the results.  
“Woah, it _is_ cool. Let me see…” He scrolled down slowly. “_But, Teej, it’s over $600!_”  
“Hey, I’ve been saving up for a while.”  
“Good to know; I was about to seriously ask if the gym was hiring.”   
“Ha-ha.”

TJ pocketed his phone and ruffled Cyrus’ hair before they started walking again.  
“Anyway, did you make up your mind about riding or not?”  
“I’d rather record you.” Cyrus answered, shaking his head. “I told you, I fractured my thumb skateboarding; no need to fracture anything else.” 

TJ rolled his eyes.  
“Whatever. I’m sure I’ll convince you.” 

Cyrus smiled.

–––

But Cyrus was no longer smiling when Reed pulled out the gun as he stood, frightened, by TJ’s side.


	2. Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reed looked at him for a moment.  
“Reed, you know I have to.” Reed’s resentful gaze didn’t waver. “I promise I’ll downplay it.”  
“If this goes on my permanent record, I’m gonna shoot you dead, Kippen.” 
> 
> And, without waiting for a reply (not that TJ had one to give), Reed picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
> 
> TJ waited until Reed and Lester rode away before he dialed 9-1-1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slow chapter setting everything up (everything will start going downhill in the next one).

“I’m gonna go.”

TJ tore his eyes away from the gun to look at the ashen-faced Cyrus by his side, and his mouth spoke before his brain could stop it.  
“No, wait–” 

_Wait? _But he couldn’t go back and unsay it, even if Cyrus was turning toward him with a full-on frown.  
“Wait?” TJ had no idea what he’d even wanted to say in the first place, so he faltered. Cyrus scowled and asked again. “_Wait?_” 

Reed and Lester continued moving in the background, but TJ didn’t see them, couldn’t care less about them: he had seconds to clear this up, he was sure of it, or their budding friendship would be doomed. Unable to form words, his desperation growing, he could only place his hand on Cyrus’ forearm.

Cyrus shrugged him off immediately, seething.  
“What should I wait for, TJ? The chance to shoot his gun?”  
“No, no, I–”  
“You what?”  
“I’ll talk to Reed, ok?” TJ fingers itched to touch Cyrus again. “Just stay and–”  
“_Stay?_” Cyrus scoffed. “This is not only illegal, it’s dangerous!”  
“I know–”  
“It’s stupid!”  
“_I know,_ but, Cyrus, please…” 

And, yeah, TJ didn’t know why he was begging, but he was, and he was not good at it: Cyrus didn’t seem placated _at all.  
_“TJ,” Cyrus voice was taut with anger, “you leave with me right now, or you stay with your friends gunning down things and, hopefully, not people. Do whatever you want, _but I’m leaving._” 

TJ swallowed.  
“I’m gonna go,” Cyrus repeated, enunciating each word slowly, “and I think you should, too.” 

But TJ couldn’t: these were his friends and he was not about to leave these two idiots with a gun and horrible aim to moronically try shooting fruit in a quarry on the outskirts of town. If they got hurt, who’d call for help? Definitely not them, as one would probably hit the other…

So TJ just looked away, feeling Cyrus’ gaze burn through him briefly.

And then Cyrus pedaled away.

TJ kept his eyes on Cyrus until he became a speck in the distance, and then turned to Reed, who was happily admiring his work setting up the watermelons, the bag forgotten on a rock nearby.

Reed looked around when he turned, before frowning.  
“Hey, where did Cyrus go?” 

In a second, TJ was fisting the front of his jersey, shaking him twice.  
“_What the hell is wrong with you?_” 

Reed held onto TJ’s hand, although he didn’t try to free himself. Lester hovered to his right.  
“Dude–”  
“Why the _hell_ did you bring a gun, Reed? What is wrong with you? You could kill someone!”  
“_Relax_. Lester and I have done this a couple of times, and we’re alive and well,” he spoke to Lester over his shoulder, “aren’t we?” 

Lester nodded and TJ groaned, shaking Reed one last time before letting him go.  
“_You. Fucking. Dipshit_.”  
“Hey! Is this the thanks I get?”  
“_What?_” 

Reed rolled his eyes.  
“What do you mean ‘_what_’? You kept saying over and over again that you wanna teach him not be afraid of things, that you want him to live on the edge like we do, that you want him to do the stuff that we do–”  
“We don’t play with guns!”  
“Yes, we do!  
“_Well, I don’t!_” 

TJ pulled his hair, trying to get his anger under control, and let out a breath before letting his arms fall by his sides.  
“Reed, this is serious. I’ve gotta report this.”  
“_What? _To who?” The tips of Reed’s ears turned red.  
“To the police.”  
“You can’t! My dad’s gonna fuck me up!”  
“If I don’t tell them,” TJ reasoned, “Cyrus will, and it’ll be worse for all of us.” 

Reed looked at him for a moment.  
“Reed, you know I have to.” Reed’s resentful gaze didn’t waver. “I promise I’ll downplay it.”  
“If this goes on my permanent record, I’m gonna shoot you dead, Kippen.” 

And, without waiting for a reply (not that TJ had one to give), Reed picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

TJ waited until Reed and Lester rode away before he dialed 9-1-1.

\---

“Lester?”  
“_What do you want?_” 

TJ nervously ran a hand through his hair and his grip around the phone tightened.  
“Look, Reed isn’t picking up and we need to get our story straight.” He could hear Lester sighing on the other side of the line.  
“What did you tell them?”  
“I said Reed brought the gun to the quarry, but I didn’t know what for, because he’d said it wasn’t loaded. They said they’d send a patrol out, but I said we’d freaked out and gone home.”  
“Dude, what the fuck do you mean ‘it wasn’t loaded’? How else were we gonna shoot the watermelons with it?” 

TJ lowered his gaze.  
“I took the watermelons with me when I left.”

Lester was silent for a bit.  
“What did you do with them?”  
“I threw them out in the second nearest dumpster, in case they went snooping around.” There was a beat of silence again. “You know I had to tell them. Cyrus will, anyway.”  
“Yeah, I know…” Lester’s voice was soft. “Did they say what they were gonna do about it?”  
“Not really. They said they’d check the scene and then go talk to Reed.”  
“Man, Mr. Roberts’ gonna flip!” 

TJ winced.  
“I know.” 

Lester cleared his throat.  
“Anything else I should know?”  
“I told them our names and stuff, so they might go and talk to you.”  
“_Dude, what the hell?_”  
“Again, Cyrus–”  
“Fuck Cyrus! If Reed gets in trouble and doesn’t kill you, I will!” 

TJ frowned.  
“I know.”

Lester’s voice still sounded nervous when he spoke again.  
“I’ll tell Reed. And, seriously, watch your back: I’m gonna _kill you_.” 

TJ thought he’d deserve it, so he didn’t reply before Lester ended the call.

He then texted Cyrus again, but this time his message showed only one checkmark. Having it sent and not delivered was a sure sign he’d been blocked, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. It wasn’t like he could just call Cyrus…was it?

\---

As expected, the police came to his house to speak with him, alarming his parents and ending up with him grounded and forbidden from talking to Reed ever again. He shrugged it off, as his parents couldn’t control what he did at school and were too busy with work to limit what he did after it, but he still thought it would be a good idea to avoid Reed for a while.

As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary because, come Monday, he learned Reed had been suspended from school for a week.

TJ’s first move after leaving the principal’s office with a stern warning of not being an idiot during weekends (why did Metcalf care, anyway?), was to go looking for Cyrus. He found him almost immediately, taking things out of his locker as he got ready for Spanish class.  
“Cyrus!” His voice was breathless all of a sudden. Cyrus seemed to hesitate before turning to him. “I’m so sorry about Saturday–”  
“You were the one that reported it, weren’t you?” 

The question caught TJ off guard.  
“Yeah,” he replied automatically.  
“And you lied.” 

Again, TJ was surprised. How did he even know? They hadn’t spoken since that afternoon.  
“I told them about the watermelons,” Cyrus explained, as if reading TJ’s mind. “They said there weren’t any, and that they hadn’t been mentioned by anyone else.” 

Cyrus stare was unsettling, and TJ felt himself starting to sweat. The first bell rang.  
“Look, I can explain–”  
“Your friend is playing with guns and will probably end up gunning us all down–”  
“Reed isn’t like that, I swear–”  
“And you’re covering for him. Why?” 

TJ pressed his lips into a thin line. He didn’t want Reed to get into trouble. Wasn’t that obvious? But the second bell rang, and Cyrus huffed before walking away.

\---

TJ tried to talk to him again at lunch, but Buffy and Andi steered Cyrus away when they saw him walking toward them. His shoulders fell at that, but Lester suddenly appeared at his side.  
“They suspended him for a week, man.” 

TJ looked at him and then at the floor.  
“About that–”  
“And he has to do 40 hours of community service.” Lester continued accusingly, annoying TJ.  
“I didn’t tell him to bring the gun.”  
“Yeah, but still–”  
“‘Still’ nothing. It’s not my fault he’s retarded.”  
“You didn’t see his dad.”  
“It doesn’t matter. He messed up.”  
“He messed up your thing with Cyrus, you mean.” 

TJ glowered.  
“Yeah, he did.” 

Because he did mess up everything with Cyrus, and TJ didn’t know why it hurt like it did.

\---

The week passed in a blur, with TJ trying to talk to Cyrus and Cyrus avoiding him successfully. He resorted to going to the swings every afternoon, but it was pointless: Cyrus didn’t show up once. As a result, he became more and more anxious, unable to concentrate at school and failing his first Math test since getting private tutoring.

He was benched by the coach until he passed the next one. Going by his lack of progress, it might as well have been for the rest of the year.

He was saved from wallowing by Lester discreetly putting a piece of crumpled aluminum foil on his desk the next morning.  
“Hope these help,” he said, before sitting down at his usual spot in the back. 

TJ turned from him to look back at the little silver ball and, for some reason, he pocketed it. His heart didn’t stop pounding all class long.

\---

TJ was off to the restroom as soon as the bell rang, locking himself in one of the stalls. He shakily took the creased wrap out of his pocket and breathed deeply before he opened it.

He recognized the pills right away.

He knew why Lester took them: his ADHD made it difficult for him to focus, and the meds helped. His grades had in fact gone up since he started taking them–

TJ tipped them into his hand. How many should he take? He’d have to ask Lester.

But the door to the hall opened, and his breath stuttered. He put them back in the foil and shoved them into his pocket before stepping out.

And before coming face to face with Cyrus.

They stared at each other for a tense moment, before Cyrus turned to the sinks to wash his hands. TJ froze. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get them out. Cyrus looked back at him and walked out.


	3. Buying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TJ cornered Lester as soon as classes ended, shaking: this was the stupidest thing Lester’d done, and he’d shot watermelons with Reed.  
“Hey,” Lester said, looking a bit unsettled himself.  
“Why did you give me these?” 
> 
> TJ knew Lester knew what he was talking about by the way Lester swallowed.  
“They’re a peace offering.” 
> 
> TJ raised an eyebrow.  
“A peace offering,” TJ repeated. Lester nodded.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's start spiraling.

TJ cornered Lester as soon as classes ended, shaking: this was the stupidest thing Lester’d done, and he’d shot watermelons with Reed.  
“Hey,” Lester said, looking a bit unsettled himself.  
“Why did you give me these?” 

TJ knew Lester knew what he was talking about by the way Lester swallowed.  
“They’re a peace offering.” 

TJ raised an eyebrow.  
“A peace offering,” TJ repeated. Lester nodded.  
“Reed’s sorry about all that happened –so am I– and when I told him about you being benched because of your test, he asked me to help you out.”  
“By giving me…” TJ lowered his voice. “your pills?” 

Lester shrugged.  
“It’s obvious that you’re not concentrating in class, and they help me, so…” He shrugged again. “I heard you’re taking the exam again on Monday, so I thought I’d give you a couple of days’ worth to help you study.”

TJ frowned. They certainly helped Lester but–  
“Won’t they make me sick? I mean, they aren’t really for me.” 

Lester shook his head.  
“You’ll be fine. They might give you headaches at first, but nothing else.” 

TJ bit his lip: _this was stupid, stupid, stupid_–

But he was stupid, too.  
“How many should I take?”  
“You’re not used to them, so one per day should be enough.” 

TJ nodded, the foil packet burning in his pocket.  
“You’ll be fine.” Lester reassured him. “And I really think they'll help.” 

And he patted TJ’s shoulder before walking away. TJ could feel the crumpled wrap scorching his thigh through his pants.

\----

Surprisingly, the small pill didn’t dissolve in his sweaty hand. He rolled it around, one side inscribed with a ‘5’ and the other with ‘AD’, crazy palpitations in his chest.

_This was stupid, stupid, stupid._

He kept an ear out for his parents, though he knew they wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours, and he turned the pill around in his hand again.

_This. Was. Stupid._

He looked back at his desk, where he’d carelessly dropped his Math notes and calculator.

_Man, this was so stupid._

Licking his lips, he let out a breath and placed the pill in his mouth. It took him a moment to swallow it, his throat definitely not on board with this, and it scratched him all the way down. He should definitely have taken it with water.

Thirty minutes later, he felt like he was vibrating but also hyperfocused. All anxiousness had left him, and he moved from his bed to his desk like he was floating. He had never experienced anything like it: solving equations was easy, numbers made sense in his head, and he quickly went through all the text and exercises he’d been assigned. Maybe his thing wasn’t dyscalculia as much as it was ADHD?

And his head did hurt, but he didn’t dare mix Tylenol with the pill –he didn’t know if they interacted– so he thought it might be best to keep his mind off of it by doing something else. Shrugging, he picked up his English notebook and started working.

He was right.

\---

The effects started wearing off after five hours, distress coming back in full force. He frowned, feeling high-strung for no reason, his hands sweating again.

And then his mom called him down for dinner and he couldn't hide anymore. He knew that his parents would suspect something was wrong as soon as they saw him so, thinking on his feet, he ran downstairs and searched for the red and white pill bottle in the cupboard.  
“You ok?” 

His mom looked concerned, so he nodded.  
“Just a headache.” Taking two pills in his hand, he moved to the kitchen sink to pour himself a glass of water. “I'll just go lie down for a bit,” he told her, bounding up the stairs. 

He took them one after the other with two gulps of water and threw himself on his bed. Closing his eyes, his breathing gradually slowed down and soon he was sleeping better than he ever had.

\---

He took another pill when he woke up the next morning, and then waited for half an hour before going over all his Math notes again.

\---

On Monday, TJ entered the classroom biting his lip nervously. Reed was sitting in the back, basically avoiding his gaze, and Lester just nodded when he walked in. _This was so stupid_–

Because he’d taken the last pill that morning and he could already feel it starting to work, calming him down. Shaking his head, he sat down in his usual spot, close to the windows, and set everything out on his desk. The class passed in a blur and soon he was asked to stay behind so he could retake the exam.

It took him a moment to acknowledge that he knew how to solve every problem on the page. In nine minutes he was done.

\---

He found himself begging two hours later.  
“Please, I just need one.”  
“Another one, you mean.” Lester huffed. “Dude, I gave you four out of my prescription, and I can’t really miss any of my doses.”  
“I know, but _please_, I’ve got a Physics exam coming up and I have to get a D or above: the coach won’t unbench me if I fail it.”  
“I don’t care. It’s not like I can buy them wherever I want. I’m already short this month because of you.” 

TJ scowled.  
“I didn’t tell you to give me any.”  
“Yet you took them, and now you are asking for more.” 

Lester stared him down.  
“Fine. I’m sorry.” TJ ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just – I’m sure I aced today’s test and you said they'd help and they did and–” He cleared his throat. “Look, if you can’t give me more, then tell me where to get them. I promise I won’t bother you again.”  
“I don’t think you get it, TJ. It’s illegal _statewide_ to buy prescription meds without a prescription, and it’s not like you can get them online without freaking your family out when they’re delivered to your door.” 

TJ groaned in frustration.  
“Then help me. Just one, man, that’s all I’m asking for.” 

Lester looked at him for a moment before he closed his locker.  
“No.” 

TJ could only look at his back as he stomped off.

\---

He wondered when his default setting became ‘jumpy’ instead of ‘confident’, hesitating before typing ‘buy Adderall online’ into the search box. He turned around to look behind him as soon as the results popped up – his door was locked, but he was still panicking. 

The first page wasn’t helpful, as it was filled with news about prescription drug abuse and links to pharmacies that required in-store pickup. The third result on the second page, however, was just what he needed.

_100 for $250_.

That was much more than he was willing to pay, a little more than half of what he’d saved up so far. Placing his forehead in the palm of his hand and resting his elbow on the desk, TJ sighed.

He was being stupid: he didn’t need them. All he had to do was pay attention in class and do his homework and study hard.

But when he lifted his head, his eyes automatically went to the orange ball with black ribs in the corner of his room. He didn’t do well the previous week in any of his classes and midterms were coming up. He couldn’t fail them, but he had no time left to learn whatever he didn’t know.

He looked at his screen again.

_Adderall. 5mg, Immediate Release (IR). 100 for $250, no prescription required. Accepted payment methods: credit card _(no, he didn’t have one)_, Amazon Gift Card _(no, he didn’t have a credit card to purchase one), _Western Union Money Transfer._

His finger hovered above the left push-button of his touchpad, but then he made up his mind and added the meds to the cart, choosing ‘Western Union’.

He clicked ‘proceed to checkout’ and filled out the form -he’d have to come up with a convincing cover story- selecting ‘overnight delivery’ for another $50. Hearing the front door open, he hastily wrote down the payment instructions on the last page of his Math notebook and closed the tab.


	4. Yielding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy’s brows furrowed, his eyes unsure.  
“Man, it’s illegal.”  
“It’s not, it’s not, it’s not.” TJ clasped his hands in front of him. “Please, I promise that you won’t get in trouble.”  
Jeremy sighed uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy is briefly -like barely- mentioned at the end of 'Etching' (another one of my fics), but that story is totally unrelated to this one, occurring in some other universe where TJ's life doesn't suck, lol.

The fabric of his t-shirt felt rough under his crossed arms. He was probably imagining it.  
“Please, Jeremy.” He tried to inject as much anguish in his voice as he could. “I don’t want my parents to kill me. Please…” 

Jeremy’s brows furrowed, his eyes unsure.  
“Man, it’s illegal.”  
“It’s not, it’s not, it’s not.” TJ clasped his hands in front of him. “Please, I promise that you won’t get in trouble.” 

Jeremy sighed uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other.  
“Why don’t you just tell them your friend took it?”  
“They won’t let me see him again!”  
“He’s not your friend if he pockets meds that he knows you need.” 

TJ tried to make himself blush and almost cheered when his face heated up.  
“He’s not exactly my…friend…” 

Jeremy’s frown deepened.  
“What is he, then?” 

TJ shook his head.  
“Look, it doesn’t matter. I know he needs help and I’m gonna help him get it, I swear, but I need you to help _me _just this once.” He bit his lip, an annoying habit of his, thinking he’d said the word ‘help’ too often in that sentence. He tried to dismiss the thought. “Please, man,” he implored. “_Please._” 

He could see Jeremy wasn’t happy with the whole thing, but he had to hold onto the hope that he–  
“Ok.”

Stunned, it took him a moment to react.  
“Ok?”  
“Yeah…” Jeremy sighed again. “Ok.”

TJ mechanically took the slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.  
“The money’s in my locker,” he said, trying to control his eyes so they weren’t as wide open as he felt they were.  
“Give it to me before my break.” 

And then Jeremy’s expression cleared up slightly.  
“_Or_ you could come with.”  
“Sure,” TJ replied, nodding wholeheartedly. Jeremy tilted his head, considering him thoughtfully.  
“You do know that, if they sell them without prescriptions, they’re probably dealers, right?” 

TJ bit his lip again, harder this time.

**\---**

Four hours. That’s all he had to wait before Jeremy drove them to the nearest Western Union. TJ felt like fidgeting but didn’t, as Jeremy was agitated enough for both of them.

They counted the money again before they stepped out of the car.  
“Where did you even get this?”  
“Grandparents,” TJ lied with a shrug. His heart ached: buying the helmet would be harder now, with him spending his hard-earned money on something he definitely didn’t need and all… 

He tried to console himself, however, with the knowledge that he still had some money left over, that he could probably save up the rest before the end of the school year, and that he’d pass all his classes. They got in line.  
“You sure they’re reliable?” Jeremy asked suddenly, looking tense. 

TJ frowned.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I mean, they kinda have a ‘we won’t ask, so don’t tell, ‘cause we don’t care’ policy. They might be promising something they won’t deliver.”  
“Dude, why would you say that?” TJ felt his heart speeding up. 

Jeremy seemed chastised, which was stupid, considering the words came from a teenager twelve years younger than him.  
“I’m just worried that–” The cashier’s voice calling them over interrupted Jeremy, who looked at her before looking back at TJ. “That you might be making a mistake.” 

They stepped forward and Jeremy smiled, making small talk with the lady behind the counter before showing her what TJ had written down on the folded piece of paper. TJ couldn’t pay attention to what they were saying, though: it dawned on him that he would be pill-less and down $300 if he was wrong–

Jeremy had already handed over the money, so he had nothing left to do but pray that he wasn’t swindled. He didn’t think God would help with that.

\---

But TJ had to look up to the ceiling in relief that Thursday when Jeremy walked into the gym looking shifty as fuck. God’d come through, he thought, stiffness leaving his body as he followed Jeremy to the mixed bathroom, locking the door behind them.  
“The package was at my door when I got home yesterday,” Jeremy explained. TJ smiled broadly.  
“Thank you,” he said warmly. Jeremy hesitated.  
“You really do have ADHD, right? You aren’t just taking these for shits and giggles?” 

TJ tried to look offended.  
“What the hell, man?”  
“Right.” Jeremy nodded once and then opened his backpack. “Just wanted to make sure.”

TJ rolled his eyes.

He couldn’t have been more elated when the pill bottle was finally in his hands.  
“Thank you, Jeremy.” He repeated, wanting to hug the dirty blond guy before him. “Seriously.” 

Jeremy shrugged awkwardly.  
“Whatever,” he said, and walked out the door. 

\---

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and his eyes went to the door again, a full glass next to him. TJ licked his lips, his brain reciting ‘this is it, this is it, this is it’ like crazy. He clenched his teeth.

With care, he took one out and screwed the bottle closed. He should probably give some to Lester to make up for what he’d been given, he thought, but then Lester’d know he’d gotten them somewhere. He didn’t think that would go down well. Letting out a breath, he walked to his dresser and hid it in the back of his last drawer, under a pile of basketball shorts.

He looked at the blue pill in his hand apprehensively. _This was stupid – so, so stupid._

But he was stupid, too, so he gulped it down with water and lay down on his bed, waiting impatiently.

Once thirty minutes were up, he righted himself and got everything Physics-related out of his drawstring bag. If he hurried, he’d be fine: the exam was in 15 hours, and he was sure he could go over all they’d covered by then.

At 1am, however, he was nodding off.

Shaking himself awake, he knit his eyebrows together and looked toward the dark piece of wooden furniture under his TV. It would be so easy if–

But he couldn’t: Lester had said ‘one per day’ and he really didn’t want to get sick.

_But he was falling asleep._

His feet took him to the bathroom to refill his glass. The pill went down easier than the previous one.

\---

He finished first, that’s all he knew, as he left the room delighted with himself. Reed raised his head to look at him briefly with a curious expression, but he couldn’t stop smiling as he walked out. He bumped into Lester, apparently on his way to his US History class from a trip to the bathroom.  
“Hey,” he greeted gleefully.  
“Hey,” Lester replied, raising an eyebrow.  
“Just passed my Physics exam.” 

Lester raised the other one.  
“Congrats, man.”  
“Thanks.” He couldn’t hide his excitement, and Lester frowned at him.  
“You ok?”  
“Yeah, dude, just happy.”  
“Right…” They stared at each other for a moment, before Lester looked down at his hall pass. “Right. Gotta go. Good for you, though.” 

TJ nodded enthusiastically and waved him goodbye although they were less than three feet apart, making Lester frown at him again. TJ couldn’t care less – he felt like doing a fist pump. All that stopped him was the mild headache that he was developing due to either staying up all night or taking his third Adderall that morning. 

Maybe he should go see the nurse.

Nah, he thought, fist pumping as he walked down the hall: he was good.

\---

He crashed close to the end of the school day, when he became so fatigued and angry that he snapped at his Bio teacher, earning himself detention. Then he fell asleep during said detention, earning himself two more days of it. He groaned unhappily, feeling as a zombie as he walked home, his bike at his side as he didn’t dare ride it.

He didn’t even take his shoes off before going upstairs and passing out on his bed.


	5. Upping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bed dipped and a smooth, warm hand pressed itself against his forehead before slowly combing through his hair. It smelled faintly of chocolate, so he immediately knew whose hand it was, and he immediately knew it was a dream… 
> 
> But then delicate fingers glided through his hair once more, a thumb caressing his temple, the sweet aroma invading his senses–
> 
> No, this was warm and perfect and real. He couldn’t avoid blushing, and his heart soared: everything was fine –more than fine– again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More decision-making (TJ might be many things, but he's committed to making things work).

The bed dipped and a smooth, warm hand pressed itself against his forehead before slowly combing through his hair. It smelled faintly of chocolate, so he immediately knew whose hand it was, and he immediately knew it was a dream… 

But then delicate fingers glided through his hair once more, a thumb caressing his temple, the sweet aroma invading his senses–

No, this was warm and perfect _and real_. He couldn’t avoid blushing, and his heart soared: everything was fine –more than fine– again.  
“Cyrus?” He asked groggily, struggling to open his eyes. The hand’s owner chuckled softly.  
“Does he also stroke your hair?” 

He jerked back his head in panic, his eyes wide. His mom smiled.  
“It’s two pm,” she said, as if TJ hadn’t just confused her cocoa butter scent for a chocolate chocolate-chip muffin fan. “You weren’t up, so I thought I’d check on you.” 

Slowly, she extended her hand to touch his forehead again and he stiffened but didn’t move. Her eyes were kind.  
“Are you coming down with something?” He shook his head, his pulse racing. She kissed his cheek. “Then come downstairs – lunch is on the counter.” 

TJ nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to catch his breath.

\---

He sat alone in the kitchen and picked at his food, too tired to want to eat. Maybe he _was_ coming down with something, because he was usually ravenous, but he hadn’t been since–

_Fuck._

The website had a section warning people to not buy the meds (yeah, like that had worked), and it included two paragraphs of symptoms. He grimaced: he hadn’t really read them, which was more than stupid of him.

He could fix that, though.

So TJ took a few more bites of his meal and stood up, throwing out the rest. After hesitating, he placed a couple of paper towels on top of it, trying to hide it from view, and walked up to his room.

It took him a moment to find the page again. His hands started to sweat as he scrolled down to the first block of text.

_…a doctor. TEENS: Adderall comedowns usually cause loss of appetite _(there it was)_, insomnia, stomach pain, nervousness and weight loss. Teens can also become exhausted, fatigued, or depressed if a high dose is stopped suddenly. ADULTS:…_

Yep, he_ was _stupid: he took the 5mg per day that Lester had recommended four times in a row… and then he took 15mg in 15 hours a couple of days later, before stopping cold turkey.

But he could fix that, too. It was simple enough. All he had to do was start taking them again, making sure to do it every five hours so he could avoid their side effects, and then taper them off. Since he’d only taken the Physics midterm so far and he had to take the rest between Monday and Friday, the extra help studying would also be appreciated.

TJ looked at his bag, filled with books and loose pages, and bit his lip: this wasn’t stupid, _for sure_.

\--- 

He twisted and turned in his bed, still awake though it was already Sunday, and almost 4am. Hopeless, he gave up on sleep and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He told himself that it was due to him sleeping 21 hours the day before, but a voice in his head reminded him that one of the side effects was ‘insomnia’…

TJ sighed. His desk was stacked with papers and he wasn’t done studying. Maybe he could go back to that?

But he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t feel like anything really.

Sighing again, he turned and noticed that he hadn’t connected his phone to its charger since Friday. It hadn’t notified him its battery was low, though. Curious, he unlocked it, the light dazzling him, and checked. _Battery life: 24%_. Nice.

With nothing else to do, he lay down on his back and decided to go through his messages. He stopped on top of Cyrus’ icon, but shook his head – Cyrus wouldn’t want to hear from him, and even less at this hour.

Plus, hadn’t Cyrus blocked him, anyway?

Clenching his teeth, he continued and noticed that Reed was typing. He raised his eyebrows and opened the thread.

‘Typing…’ disappeared.

TJ waited for several minutes, but Reed didn’t send him anything, though he remained online. Frowning, TJ locked his phone and connected it, before placing it under his pillow. If Reed wanted to write something, he could; if he didn’t, well, TJ didn’t care at all.

\---

It was no wonder that his head was killing him after basically taking a nap instead of actually sleeping, so he slinked out of his room and went to the cupboard in the kitchen that functioned as their medicine cabinet. He took what he needed and quietly filled a glass with water. When he turned, his dad walked in.  
“TJ! You’re awake early!” 

Surprised, TJ said the first thing that came to mind.  
“Headache.” 

His dad furrowed his brow and walked closer. He placed a hand on TJ’s shoulder and another on TJ’s forehead. TJ held his breath.  
“You’re not warm,” his dad said, “but this is your second one this week.” His dad dropped his hands by his sides. TJ started breathing again. “Have you been sleeping well?”  
“Yeah,” he replied automatically.  
“Eating?”  
“Yes. All’s fine.” 

His dad gave him a look and stepped back, apparently choosing not to push it. Instead, he walked to the fridge and opened it.  
“Any plans for today?” 

‘Staying holed up upstairs’ might not be the answer his dad wanted, so TJ shrugged.  
“Might go out later, but with midterms coming up…”  
“You’d better stay in and study, gotcha.” His dad smiled as he pulled something out of one of the fridge’s drawers, turning to TJ. “String cheese?” 

\---

His brain could not absorb any more information by noon, and he looked at his water unhappily, thinking that taking the damn pills had him more hydrated than every sports drink he’d had this year. He still had 27 doses to go until Friday, and then more until he finally stopped them. However, he tried not to dwell on it as it made him nauseous – he’d have to take them anyway, however much he didn’t want to.

The glass slipped slightly in his hand as he threw his head back, downing the pill as quickly as he could. He then stood up, put on a hoodie and walked out, because there was no way he was looking at a book for the next 60 minutes.  
“I’ll be back soon!” He yelled, and closed the door after him, not waiting for his parents’ answer. 

\---

Before long, he was at the lake in the middle of the park, sitting down ungracefully. The breeze travelling through the trees did little to help him cool down, so he took off his hoodie, thankful he had worn a t-shirt underneath. He then hugged his knees, resting his face against them.

He was exhausted, but his body wouldn’t shut down, and it’d take days, maybe even weeks, for him to sleep normally again–

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts, making him jump and look up. Reed looked down at him.  
“You ok?” TJ swallowed thickly, trying to get his heart back down his throat, and nodded. Reed sat down next to him. “What’s going on?” 

It only took a moment for his heart to move closer to the center of his chest, but he preferred not to share what he’d been thinking with Reed, so he shrugged.

And, for a minute, Reed gazed at the water. He looked upset, so TJ waited for him to speak while he contented himself with staring at _and_ hating the ducks – he wished he could be swimming, too.  
“Lester told me what he did.” 

Reed’s voice was quiet, so TJ turned to him to hear him better.  
“We kinda fought,” he almost whispered. 

TJ frowned.  
“Why?”  
“Don’t play the idiot.” Reed’s voice was stronger now, and angry. “He gave you addys. And you took them.” 

TJ bit his lip: his best defense at this point was silence, so he didn’t say anything. That seemed to rile up Reed.  
“Sam started like you did,” he told him, and something twisted unpleasantly in TJ’s stomach. “And then he started overdoing it and he ended up seeing stuff and hearing stuff that wasn’t there.” 

Sam, TJ knew, was still at rehab, although two months had passed.  
“Don’t ruin your life,” Reed said irritably. “Just don’t.”  
“I’m not trying to.” 

Reed looked at him.  
“But you will. This isn’t a game. And if it were, you wouldn’t win.” 

His tiredness was getting to him, that was all, TJ thought, as his eyes watered.  
“It’s just for a week. Just this week. Once our exams are over–”  
“You’ll find another reason to do them. You won’t stop. And then,” Reed’s voice wobbled, “you’ll end up like Sam.” 

What had twisted in him before was surely a knife that was cutting through him. _TJ had to go_, he had to leave–

Standing up, a wave of dizziness washing over him, TJ stepped back and ran home.


	6. Unraveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But a piece of paper was waiting for him on his desk and that was new. It was a miracle Coleman hadn’t noticed it, he thought, as he sat down and read it.  
_Blow me off all you like: I’ve got something of yours and you won’t like what I’ll do with it if you don’t come get it. Meet me at my place at 4. Ball’s in your court, idiot._
> 
> TJ immediately turned and glared at Reed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TJ falls -more than goes- down the rabbit hole.  
TW: some unwanted sexual advances.

His phone kept buzzing the rest of the afternoon, and part of the night, too. He ignored it. There was nothing else Reed could say, or, more accurately, nothing else he wanted to hear. But he couldn’t avoid him any longer by third period the next day, even though Reed didn’t seat close to him. 

As usual, TJ walked in late. He rolled his eyes when Coleman looked at him disapprovingly, knowing he wouldn’t write him up or send him to the principal’s office. The man always warned him that this was _the last time_ that he’d let it slide and that the next one, he’d report him. He never did. _Boring._

But a piece of paper was waiting for him on his desk and that was new. It was a miracle Coleman hadn’t noticed it, he thought, as he sat down and read it.  
_Blow me off all you like: I’ve got something of yours and you won’t like what I’ll do with it if you don’t come get it. Meet me at my place at 4. Ball’s in your court, idiot._

TJ immediately turned and glared at Reed, who pretended not to see him. Annoyed, he took out his pen.  
_Can’t, dickwad – I’ve got practice._

He then bit his lip. Nothing of his was missing, but he couldn’t risk it.  
_I’ll be there tomorrow._

\---

He frowned: for some reason all the letters he tried to read kept getting mixed up on the page. Since when had his dyscalculia become dyslexia? But there they were, made-up words making no sense, however much he tried to decipher them. He sighed.

Maybe he just needed a break. Leaning back in his chair, he drummed his fingers on the desk and looked at his phone, notification light flashing. He knew it was Reed – no one else wrote him these days. Hopefully he hadn’t followed through with his threat.

But he was parched, so he might as well go get an ice-cold glass of water and continue ignoring Reed.

He’d been thirstier than ever lately, even with all the water he’d been drinking to down the pills, and he thought he also had a slight fever. Practice had been grueling, though, so that might have had a hand in it. Shaking his head, he thanked God that at least he wasn’t getting headaches anymore. He didn’t think God cared.

His mother was puttering about when he walked down to the kitchen, apparently trying to tidy up an already neat dining room.  
“Honey,” she said as soon as she noticed him standing on the last step of the stairs, “remember we’re having Aunt May over for dinner.” 

He smiled.  
“Nice. Can I get pizza?”  
“As long as you keep to your room,” his mom replied, tsking good-naturedly. 

Forgetting the water, he walked back upstairs.

\---

By 9pm, he could no longer keep himself awake. He could still hear Aunt May droning on downstairs, probably boring his parents to death. Rubbing his eyes, he looked toward his dresser…

He knew he shouldn’t take another one –it was stupid–, but he really needed to stay up: he had to take his Ancient History midterm in 12 hours, and he couldn’t fail it.

_He excelled in that subject, though._

But he was too tired to pass. _He couldn’t even read anymore, for God’s sake._ He bit his lip, his eyes fixed on the bottom drawer. Man, this was stupid.

Again, so was he.

Making up his mind, he took a pill with the left-over soda on his nightstand. He tried to concentrate on the cola’s horrible watered-down taste, and not on the fact that it was too early for the next dose and too late for him to un-swallow it.

\---

His hands were twitching, so he clasped them together, pressing them against his stomach as he tried to still himself enough to go to sleep. It might be hopeless, but even he knew sleeping only 3 hours in 48 was troubling. He briefly thought about making himself some chamomile tea, or swiping some of his dad’s sleeping pills, but he couldn’t oversleep, so he continued staring at the ceiling almost unblinkingly until it was time to head to school.

His head was hurting by the time he reached his locker. He rested his forehead against it, its coolness helping somewhat, losing track of time… and then the bell rang.

Had he really been standing there for 25 minutes? And had no one worried enough about him to check if he was fine? His stomach dropped and his jaw tensed. He knew he was still a bully to many, but not even Cyrus had–

No, of course he hadn’t. TJ squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, tears threatening to fall, as he cleared his throat. Feeling heavy, he took his books out and walked to class. He was fine. He was fine.

\---

He wasn’t.

Sentences were confusing; he couldn’t even understand the instructions. A tear fell on the page, then another. He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t fine. Would no one notice?

His teacher did, walking toward him looking concerned.  
“Mr. Kippen,” she asked quietly, “what’s wrong?”

He shook his head, handing in the empty sheet and walking out of the room, his heart sinking…

He should have taken another pill before the exam.

\---

TJ tapped his foot nervously, another addy keeping him awake and alert and on edge as he waited for the bell to ring. His mind had cleared up enough for him to think it through and decide that he had to talk to his teacher – maybe she’d forgive his idiocy.

Maybe she wouldn’t even hear him out.

He pushed that thought out of his head and almost ran to her classroom as soon as they were let out for lunch, bumping into two seventh graders on the way there. He didn’t stop to apologize, earning a couple of dirty looks as he sprinted, hoping she hadn’t already gone to the teachers’ lounge.  
“Ms. Neill!” 

Surprised, she looked up from the papers on her desk.  
“Mr. Kippen.” He walked in tentatively. She raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think I’d see you again today.”  
“I know, I know…” He bit his lip, lowering his gaze. “It’s just – I wanted to apologize for, you know, leaving earlier.” 

She waved his apology away, moving closer.  
“What happened?” 

He wondered if he should tell her. Unlike God, she seemed to care.  
“I–” No, he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. “I have some things going on and I couldn’t study, so I freaked out.” 

He shrugged: that was close enough to the truth. She nodded, frowning.  
“Would you like to talk about it?” 

He shook his head vigorously, looking at her with pleading eyes. Her frown deepened.  
“If you are in some kind of trouble–”  
“No, no!” He was scared now: maybe she cared too much. He shouldn’t have said anything. “It’s nothing serious, don’t worry.”  
“Mr. Kippen, you were _crying_.”  
“I know, I – I was just being stupid. Please forget it.” 

It was obvious that she wouldn’t. He changed the subject.  
“Is there any way I could retake the exam or make up for it?” 

She sighed.  
“It was a midterm–”  
“Please.” So, ok, he was begging. He hoped that didn’t make everything worse. “Please, you know I’m doing well in this class, and I promise I’ll concentrate and study and work my stuff out. Just – please, give me a chance.” 

Ms. Neill looked at the ceiling briefly, and then back at him.  
“Fine.”  
“Fine?”

TJ’s eyebrows went up: he thought it’d take more imploring. Perhaps he was just good at persuading people.  
“Yes. You’ll have less time to complete it, though.” He couldn’t care less, and thanked her. “Does Thursday at lunch work for you?”

TJ nodded wholeheartedly, feeling as if he should hug her. He bit his lip instead, thanking her again and extending his hand. She smiled and shook it, before walking to the front of the room. 

\---

And then 4pm rolled around and he found himself standing on Reed’s porch, taking another pill with water from the bottle that he always kept in his drawstring bag. There were no cars in the driveway, so they’d be alone. Good: Reed’s dad probably hated him since the gun incident anyway.

He rang the doorbell and waited. Reed opened soon enough, smirking as soon as he set his eyes on TJ.  
“Hey, fuckbag.” 

TJ scowled. He was too tired for this after being awake for 57 hours straight. He’d punch him if he weren’t so sleep deprived.  
“Give me my shit.” 

Reed rolled his eyes, opening the door all the way before going up the stairs. Letting out a harsh breath, TJ stepped in, closed the door behind himself, and followed him to his room. Reed was already sitting on his bed by the time he reached him, TJ’s light blue hoodie –the one he'd left back at the lake on Sunday– on his lap, a bag of peanut M&Ms in his hands.

TJ tensed. _What the hell could Reed do with his hoodie?_ Smear it with chocolate? Throw it out?  
“Give me my shit,” he repeated. 

Reed ignored him, patting the spot next to him on the bed. TJ sat down on the mattress, a bit farther away than where Reed wanted him to, and dropped his bag on the floor defiantly.

But then Reed’s irritating smile disappeared and TJ knew he was screwed.  
“I will _give you your shit_ back when you get some help.” 

TJ looked at him, confused.  
“What?”

Reed frowned.  
“What do you mean ‘_what_’? Dude, I saw you. You were crying during the exam and–” 

TJ tuned him out. Was he microsleeping again?

He came to with Reed looking at him weirdly, the smell of chocolate enveloping them, the empty candy bag on his right.  
“What?” He hadn’t thought that the second time he’d ask that, he’d be more lost than the first one. 

Reed placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.  
“Are you on them now?” 

TJ thought about not responding, but his body was doing whatever it wanted – his head nodded. Reed shook him again.  
“What the hell, man? You really wanna be the next Sam?” 

Something burned in TJ, white hot.  
“What’s it to you?”  
“Shut up, asshat: I _care_, though I’m starting to doubt you deserve it.” Reed replied, letting his hand fall as he sighed in disappointment. “What the fuck are you doing to yourself?” 

On an emotional seesaw, TJ shook his head, his eyes watering.  
“I don’t even know…” he answered, his voice soft. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying. 

And then Reed gripped his forearm, making TJ lean toward him.  
“Then don’t do it. You need to stop this.” He tilted his head to look at TJ straight in the eye. “I’ll help you.” 

They were close, too close, and the smell of chocolate was overpowering. TJ moved forward and closed his eyes.

Reed’s lips were soft, probably softer than Cyrus’ chapped ones would be, if he ever got to kiss them. He moved closer before Reed pulled away saying “I’m not Cyrus” quietly. 

TJ didn’t know why that mattered. He was tired and depressed and Reed cared and nothing mattered because, at that moment, Reed was all TJ had, and Reed was upset, and TJ wasn’t going to lose Reed.

And, maybe it was the pills, maybe it was his exhaustion, but this seemed like the right thing to do to make Reed stay, and, damn it, he was gonna do it. So he put his hand on the nape of Reed’s neck and pulled him closer. Reed resisted but it was pointless: if the mountain wouldn’t come to TJ–

His second kiss was more demanding but Reed still didn’t move, making tears seep out of TJ’s eyes. He knew Reed liked making out; why was Reed so… _stiff_? And then Reed broke the kiss again, looking shaken.  
“You’ve gotta stop taking shit, man: this is fucked up.” 

TJ made a strangled sound (agreeing? regretting everything?), but then Reed licked his lips. TJ groaned.

Shock and elation filled him, addled his brain –Reed’s reaction showed that he _did_ want this, the voice in his head insisted–, and his body acted on its own.  
“TJ.” Cyrus said warningly. His voice sounded strange. Was he with Reed or Cyrus? Was this even real?

TJ didn’t dwell on it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Cyrus’, his heart hammering in his chest. _He was kissing Cyrus._ He was finally kissing Cyrus, and he tasted like chocolate, and it didn’t matter if this was a microdream.

Cyrus pushed him back forcefully.  
“TJ – TJ, stop.” 

But TJ couldn’t. He shifted again, first kneeling on the bed and then straddling Cyrus, his teeth biting Cyrus’ lower lip, making both moan.  
“I’m not even gay,” Cyrus breathed, but TJ could feel him through their pants and Cyrus was definitely turned on. Why should TJ believe him? 

And then TJ moved his hand to Cyrus’ fly and Cyrus shoved him off.  
“What the fuck, dude!” Reed was glowering at him. “_I said ‘stop’! You gonna fucking rape me in my own room?!_” 

His heart racing, TJ looked at him, horrified.  
“I–I–”  
“_I’m. Not. Cyrus._ I’m a fucking blue-eyed blond shit that wants you to stay the fuck away from him!” 

But TJ couldn't hear him –all he knew was that he was already turning into Sam, _and he was losing all he had_ because he was losing Reed–

TJ stumbled off the bed, aghast, and ran out the door.


	7. Losing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had barely turned around, listless and depressed, when a hand slammed against his chest, ramming him against his locker. Surprised, he followed the arm to the person’s face.
> 
> It was Reed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter of this fic ahead.  
TJ finally loses everything.

TJ squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regulate his breathing, unable to stop his tears. His hands curled in his hair and he pulled it, and it helped ground him a bit, the pain centering him, placing him on his bed in his room.

As always, his parents were at work, but he wouldn’t have been able to discuss what he was doing –_what he’d done_– with them even if they’d been home, no matter how much he wanted to hide from everything in his mom’s arms and stay there forever.

She would understand, though. She would understand when he told her.

Wouldn’t she?

But he couldn’t answer that – his thoughts were everywhere and nowhere, and he was too tired and too anxious to concentrate on anything. For a moment, he thought about finally taking his dad’s meds to fall asleep, but he couldn’t trust himself, not now when all he wanted was to disappear, to make everything stop.

And he knew he couldn’t face any side effects; he wasn’t strong enough to do so. So he took the cursed pills again. He took them every five hours and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, awake all night long.

\---

He had barely turned around, listless and depressed, when a hand slammed against his chest, ramming him against his locker. Surprised, he followed the arm to the person’s face.

It was Reed.

And Reed was furious, his eyes burning and even the tips of his ears red.  
“I’m not your shit keeper, so stop leaving me your shit,” he said, and it was then that TJ saw that the hand with which Reed had shoved him back was holding his hoodie and his drawstring bag. He hadn’t even noticed he’d left them at Reed’s, and he took them in a daze, trying to think of how to ever apologize for what he’d done.  
“Reed, I–”  
“Shut the fuck up.”

TJ shut his mouth immediately, his teeth clicking together as Reed took a deep breath, his expression slowly changing from murderous to wretched.  
“Just tell me, what were you thinking? I’ve worried about you, and I’ve tried to help you. Why do that to me? That’s all I wanna know.” TJ swallowed, torn between consoling him and being quiet. “Any guy with a hand down his pants will be excited, but I didn’t want you – I’ve never wanted you, or any other guy, that way. So how could you do that to me?” 

TJ shook his head, his eyes not leaving Reed’s. The first bell of the day rang.  
“I fucked up,” he replied, his voice soft. What else could he say?

Reed lowered his gaze and his voice sounded choked up.  
“How far would you have gone if I hadn’t stopped you?” 

TJ felt himself break because he didn’t know how to respond. Believing Reed was Cyrus, not hearing Reed at all, how far would he have gone? Would he have–

The tardy bell rang when he started sobbing.

He could see Reed turning to look around. TJ didn’t care –they were probably alone already–, but his unease returned when Reed shook his shoulder, as he always did when he was going to be serious about something.  
“Will you do it to anyone else?” The silence extended, and TJ finally gave an honest half shrug, still weeping. Reed’s grip tightened. “Then I’m gonna have to report you.”  
“_What?_” TJ asked, every muscle in his body both stiff and shaking, shrill alarms going off in his head.  
“You can’t do stuff like that and expect me to stand by and let you. You need help, and I’m gonna make you get it.”  
“You can’t tell anyone! I’ll be expelled!”  
“I rather that than you assaulting someone else.” 

_That. Hurt._

But was Reed right? Would he do it again?

Reed looked devastated, he did, but TJ didn’t buy it: he was being betrayed by his best friend. His feet stayed rooted to the spot as time slowed down and Reed walked away to class. And then his fight-or-flight response kicked in, his heart racing, nearly exploding, his face pale, his breaths uneven as he struggled to reach the bathroom before puking his guts out in the closest stall. He whimpered between retches, pleading to God to help him, although God had showed him –over and over again– that He didn’t care. His knuckles were white, holding onto the porcelain bowl with all his strength, his body covered with cold sweats.

Was he dying?

It took him a couple of minutes to empty his stomach, and his dry heaves made his chest pain worse, so he let himself fall on his haunches, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand. He could no longer make noises as tears silently left his eyes: he had lost Reed, and he’d be kicked out of school, and he would disappoint his parents, and, God, what would Cyrus think? He bent over, resting his head against the toilet as he cried.

\---

He almost stumbled to second period – there was no need to make everything worse by having the school call his house for cutting class. His teacher frowned at him as he walked in, his face splotchy and swollen as he took his seat. She didn’t comment on it but she did keep looking at him with concern while she explained the week’s assignments.

Halfway through, he was asked to report himself to the principal’s office.

He stared but didn’t see his classroom anymore, sure that every eye was on him. The dizziness returned and he pressed his elbows against his sides, hoping that that would work as well as pulling his hair did.

It didn’t.

He didn’t remember moving, but then he was somehow in front of the principal’s door. He swept his trembling hand across his forehead before knocking. Metcalf instantly asked him to come in.

To his surprise, Coleman was sitting across from the principal and turned to look at him as he stepped in. Why had Reed gone to him?  
“Please, sit down.” Metcalf said, signaling the chair next to Coleman. TJ did as he was told, fighting to not wring his hands. “I imagine you know why you’re here.” 

_Better play dumb. _TJ shook his head. Both Metcalf and Coleman frowned.  
“It’ll be better for you to admit it right now, Mr. Kippen – there’s no need to waste our time.” Metcalf warned. His gaze darting between both men, TJ shook his head again. 

Coleman let out a sigh and moved two papers that had been on the principal’s desk closer to TJ. He knew what they were: his last two test results. The left one was marked with an F; the right one, with an A+. He would have smiled if the situation didn’t seem so grim.  
“Do you want to explain what happened here?” Mr. Coleman asked.  
“I studied,” he answered, but his voice quivered. 

He could see Coleman was fighting to not roll his eyes. The teacher turned to the principal, who sighed.  
“I’m sure you remember our policies regarding cheating–”  
“_What?_” Was he going to keep asking that question all day? TJ’s eyebrows shot up as he felt his whole body burn. “I studied, I swear!”  
“No one can improve like this in a week,” Coleman countered.  
“Because I have dyscalculia?” TJ couldn’t help glaring. His teacher didn’t take kindly to it.  
“Yes, because you have dyscalculia. That doesn’t disappear from one day to another.”  
“Well, Mr. Kippen,” Metcalf butted in, probably seeing the argument would escalate within minutes, “you have previous experience in these matters, so you are familiar with the consequences.”  
“But I didn’t cheat!”  
“Can you prove it?” Coleman asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He couldn’t even _read words_ at this point. TJ’s heart constricted.  
“Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, Mr. Coleman, maybe you could give him a chance?” TJ looked hopefully at the principal, but his next words made TJ’s mouth dry up. “I don’t know, perhaps providing five exercises he can work on right now, similar to those on these tests?”  
“Can’t it be tomorrow? I’m not feeling well.” 

Metcalf narrowed his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, TJ could see Coleman smirk.  
“That’s quite a coincidence.” 

He was tearing up again, TJ thought desperately, and that would only confirm their suspicions. But he was unable to control himself, or to beg for forgiveness for something he _didn’t do_, or to turn to Coleman to wipe that smug smile off of his face. To his credit, the principal didn’t seem happy about punishing him.  
“I guess that’s settled, then. Mr. Kippen, you’ll get an F on this test,” he signaled the A+ that TJ couldn’t believe he was losing after all he’d done to get it, “two weeks detention and a month’s suspension from the basketball team.”  
“_A month?_” The world started spinning…

Because playing basketball was the reason he had started all this nightmare: to not fail his tests so he could stay on the team, so he could still be part of the only thing he didn’t have to fight for until a couple of months ago. It was the only thing that saved him from feeling inadequate, incompetent, in a family full of successful people. He was cruel when competing, and spiteful the rest of the time; resentful and egocentric and an all-around horrible human being for no reason at all. His friends, however much they cared for him, probably weren’t the best type of people in town. He was willfully disobedient, reckless at times, like now, when he was downing pills like his life depended on them (at this point, maybe it did). But playing was the only thing that kept him from not turning out right: he had to behave and be good, or he’d be taken off the team.

And now he was being suspended from it anyway, for the second time in three months. It didn’t matter if it was for a minute or for a year, he would not be allowed to even practice and his afternoons would be spent with his brain reproaching him for his stupidity, his body failing from the sleep deprivation that the pills seemed to–

_Wait: that would explain everything_. If he told them about the addys, they might believe he hadn’t cheated and–

And he would be kicked out of school.

Sagging in his seat, he bent his head forward, closed his eyes, and ignored everything else both men said.

\---

His feet dragged him to the swing set after his first detention ended. Engrossed in his thoughts, he didn’t see the dark-haired boy until he almost bumped into his back.

Cyrus was barely moving, and TJ guessed it was because he was upset; he’d once said he only hung out at the swings when he was ‘feeling bad about himself’. TJ hoped against hope that Cyrus was feeling bad for deciding to push him away, and he said the first thing on his mind.  
“Is this swing taken?” 

To say Cyrus was surprised to see him would be an understatement. Cyrus, however, was not speechless when he turned.  
“I shouldn’t speak to you.”  
“I understand.” He really didn’t. “I’ll go. Can I just say ‘_I’m sorry_’ first?” 

Cyrus shook his head.  
“Please–” TJ implored, but that only made Cyrus seem sadder.  
“I heard about what you did.” 

TJ wracked his brain for what that could be, with the inaccurate police report and the pills and the midterm and Reed and–  
“You cheated again.” 

He. Hadn’t.

And how had Cyrus found out about Coleman’s speculations anyway? As always, Cyrus could read his mind.  
“Mr. Coleman asked Buffy yesterday if she’d ‘studied’ with you, because you did well on the test you retook though you haven’t been going to tutoring.” Cyrus frowned. “He threatened with taking her to the principal because you took the same exam he’d given her class, and she had helped you cheat last time.” 

TJ stepped forward, extending a hand as Cyrus turned away from him, but something stopped him from making contact and he ended up holding onto one of the swing’s chains instead.  
“Underdog, I didn’t–” 

Cyrus didn’t let him continue.  
“How could you expose her to suspension from the basketball team, _again_? I thought you had really meant it when you apologized…”  
“Underdog, please hear me out–”  
“And I tried to be on your side.” Cyrus was obviously close to tears. “I tried to think that you weren’t mean, that you weren’t scary, that you weren’t a cheat and a liar because it was a one-time thing; but here you are, still considered a bully by everyone because you _just can’t be nice_, playing with guns, and lying to the police, and cheating in school, and hurting others…” Cyrus sniffed. “And I don’t know how I could ever have misjudged you so much.” 

His eyes wet, TJ’s vision blurred.  
“I swear, Underdog–” 

Cyrus looked to the ground at his side, apparently unwilling to face TJ.  
“It’s ‘_Cyrus_’,” he said, quite clearly. 

TJ swallowed.  
“_Cyrus, please_–”  
“No.” Cyrus’ voice was softer now. “I don’t know why I thought there was a nice person inside you, trying to get out. You’re nothing but–” He seemed to reconsider and didn’t finish the sentence. TJ didn’t need him to. 

And yet Cyrus spoke again. TJ didn’t hear him, but he now understood what Cyrus was trying to tell him: that TJ’d finally done it – he’d ruined everything. It had happened. That was what Cyrus was saying, wasn’t it?

And nothing else mattered, not the detentions, not the suspension, not the accusations, not losing Reed, not wasting more than half his savings on those damn pills. Nothing. _It had happened_, that was all. He was done.

And then Cyrus walked away, without turning back. TJ felt the swing’s chain slip through his hand as he sunk to his knees.

_It had happened._

He could no longer feel his heart aching in his chest; he didn’t know if he could breathe. He was burning up, shivering, almost convulsing. He was light-headed, nauseous, _sick._

His forehead hit the ground as he doubled up on himself because he could no longer keep himself upright. Was this what breaking down felt like? Because he was falling down on his side, his vision clouding, his breathing shallow–

And then he blacked out.

He came to slowly, an insistent tapping on his cheek, a cool hand holding one of his, and it took him a moment to focus on the person crouching beside him. Looking more distressed than he’d ever seen her, Buffy was bent over him, calling his name.  
“TJ, oh my God,” she let out a breath, relieved, but her expression didn’t change. “What happened? Do you suffer from anything? Are you diabetic?” 

But he couldn’t reply. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t anything.  
“Come on, come on!” She pushed him so he was lying on his back, placing her ear above his mouth and nose, and then on his chest, checking his vital signs. Apparently confirming everything was working, however badly, she then went through his pockets and took out his phone, just to look at his face again and see him closing his eyes. “Damn it!” 

Placing her hand briefly on his forehead, she patted his cheek again.  
“You still with me?” 

But he couldn’t even nod. _It had happened._

He could open his eyes, however, so he did, and he saw Buffy trying to press his finger against the back of his phone, to unlock it with his fingerprint. It wasn’t working – he knew by the way she groaned in frustration.  
“TJ, can you give me your password? I don’t have your mom’s number,” she pleaded, shaking him when he didn’t answer. “Please!” 

Falling back on her haunches, almost crying in desperation, she took her own phone out and dialed.

He didn’t care who she was calling and time passed with her on the phone holding his hand. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that before paramedics were at his side, and she didn’t let go until they lifted the stretcher.

He didn’t react in any way, though, because nothing mattered: _it had happened._

He closed his eyes.

_It had happened: he’d lost Cyrus._

_He’d lost everything._


	8. Admitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you remember what happened earlier?”
> 
> _He’d lost everything._ He shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow chapter ahead.  
The medical jargon is accurate thanks to my sister, who is an angel that doesn't ask why I make random questions about symptoms of a secret condition (because I don't want to tell her I'm writing about a minor's Adderall addiction, lol). I explain it all in this chapter's definitely-too-long-because-they-are-extremely-detailed end notes.

_Burning. He was burning._

His eyes blinked open, his brain processing the sounds surrounding him as he was wheeled past the double doors and into the ER.  
“–ppen, 14-year-old male, found having a seizure in Shadyside Park by a bystander. BP 90/70, heart rate 120, respiratory 28. Temperature 41°C. Bystander said he might have epilepsy or diabetes, but his Glucotest showed 87. No visible injuries, disoriented, only spoke once to say his vision’s blurry and that he’s tired. He’s gradually become more agitated and has lost consciousness twice. We provided saline and–”  
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” 

The woman’s voice was kind. Turning his head slightly, he fuzzily saw a nurse smiling at him. He followed her lanyard with his eyes, but he couldn’t see her ID.  
“Honey, can you tell me your name?” She insisted. 

He swallowed thickly. Others were moving around him.  
“TJ,” he croaked. “TJ Kippen.”  
“What a great name: _TJ Kippen_.” She was hooking him up to things and turned her back to him. “And how old are you, TJ Kippen?”  
“Fourteen.”  
“Fourteen,” she echoed, turning back to face him with a pair of scissors in her hand. TJ’s heart sped up even more, but she ignored the frenzied beeping from the machine next to her. “Do you remember what happened earlier?”

_He’d lost everything._ He shook his head. She tutted, the scissors gliding easily through his hoodie and t-shirt. He swallowed again.  
“And what are you feeling now? Does anything hurt? Are you dizzy? Nauseous?” 

He shook his head again and then moved, but her hands stopped him. The hell? He just wanted to get the stupid straw off of his nose.  
“TJ, leave that on, honey.” He jerked his head from side to side, but the damned thing seemed stuck on his face. “You need to keep that on to help you breathe, ok?”  
“Getitoff…” He moaned. Everyone ignored him.  
“Where do you live, TJ?” 

But TJ didn’t feel like answering any more questions. He struggled against her grip weakly.  
“Family members?” A lab-coated woman asked.  
“I called his father using his cell on the way here,” the first voice he’d heard, belonging to one of the paramedics, replied. “Should be here soon.” 

TJ tried to free himself again, glaring at the nurse. Hadn’t she heard his dad was coming? His dad wouldn’t stand for this.

She was still stronger than TJ.  
“Get. Off. Of. Me.” 

But everyone just tuned him out, the nurse not letting go, the doctor calling out orders before TJ heard denim being cut in the background.  
“I said, _get off of me_.”  
“We’re trying to help you here, TJ,” the doctor calmly replied, wielding a needle that TJ couldn’t take his eyes off of. _Help him how?_ “Just relax and–”  
“_GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!_” 

He tried to push the nurse off again, but then all hands were on deck and he was injected with something that made his muscles loosen, the gurney tilting slightly. It made him feel faint, so he started breathing deeply, concentrating: _two seconds in, two out; four in, four out_. A thin blue sheet placed over his chest and face also helped distract him, as did the fingers rubbing circles on the skin around his right clavicle.  
“Positive for rhabdo,” someone stated, and the stroking was substituted by a needle prick. 

And then some pressure.

And whatever it was took a while, and he wept throughout, trying to breathe, his whimpers weakening as exhaustion took over.

Until the room turned_ fucking cold_. He gasped.

But it wasn’t the room, it was just him, he noticed, as the bed was readjusted and the blue sheet was lifted: some packs that seemed to have ice in them were now around his groin and under his arms.

And then his eyes focused on his right–

On tubes on his right that were not coming out of the cold pack they’d just placed on his chest–

_Dad_–

On tubes that were coming out _from under his skin_, the skin that’d been massaged before–

Tubes _sown _into him, tubes red with blood, tubes that moved up and down as he breathed–

_DAD_–

Tubes that they were touching and moving and drawing blood from and pushing things in through–

And he felt something cold flow inside him, his vision dimming and tunneling, his limbs tingling–

_dad_–

They were tapping his face, they were tapping his face–

His eyes rolled back when he fainted.

\---

He woke up in a hospital room, and immediately tensed, looking toward his right shoulder. But then, in the background, he spotted his dad.

Had his dad arrived in time to save him? Because he could still feel them attached to him but, thankfully, the tubes were covered by his hospital gown. The memory of what they’d looked like where they went into him flashed through his mind and his stomach twisted.

And then his dad turned from looking out to the hallway and saw he was awake. TJ couldn’t stop his tears: his dad was immediately next to him, talking to him, hugging him, shielding him from them and anyone else that wanted to hurt him. TJ had fucked up in every possible way, and his dad still protected him, still loved him.

_But he only loved him because he didn’t know what TJ had done._

TJ couldn’t drown his sobs.

\---

He eventually calmed down, his mom stroking his hair since she arrived until he fell into a fitful sleep. A ‘Dr. Young’ walked in shortly after, asking to speak with him. _Shit.  
_“And with us?” 

The doctor turned from TJ’s parents to TJ, but TJ, just woken up, couldn’t move. _Shit, shit, shit: the doctor knew, didn’t he? And he was about to tell them.  
_“I’d prefer to talk with him in private. I won’t be long.” 

TJ tried to conceal his relief. The doctor waited until they walked out, and looked at TJ again.  
“How are we doing, Mr. Kippen?” 

TJ quirked an eyebrow. Had the doctor gotten rid of his parents just to know how he was doing? He almost shrugged, but then he remembered the tubes stuck inside him.  
“I’m fine.”  
“Fine? You had quite an afternoon.” 

TJ frowned, his hands starting to shake as the doctor walked closer with a file. Dr. Young seemed to be waiting for something. After a couple of seconds of silence, he gave up and opened the folder in his hands to slowly read things off of it.  
“You came in with quite a list of very specific symptoms.” He closed the file. “Any idea of what might have caused them?” 

TJ’s mouth was dry. Dr. Young didn’t wait this time.  
“Maybe taking amphetamines?” 

He’d been caught, because that’s what addys were, weren’t they?  
“Your test came back positive.” So yeah, that’s what addys were. The doctor didn’t look angry. “How did you get them?” 

TJ teared up. He might as well tell him everything.  
“A friend gave me some of his pills,” he spilled, “to help with a test, and they worked, so I bought some more–”  
“With his prescription?” 

TJ shook his head, frowning again.  
“Online.” 

The doctor nodded as if what they were discussing was the most regular purchase in the world.  
“How long have you been taking them?”  
“In total, about two weeks, but at first it was just 5mg per day.”  
“Why did that change?”  
“I started feeling sick every couple of hours, so I decided to overlap the doses to avoid that…” 

Dr. Young’s smile was rueful.  
“Smart idea, stupid decision.” 

TJ snorted and rubbed his eyes.  
“How much have you been taking then?”  
“About 25mg a day.”  
“Without having ADHD and without easing into it?”

TJ couldn’t look at him anymore, so he lowered his gaze.  
“Have you had other symptoms?”  
“Yeah.” TJ sighed. “Anxiety, no appetite, the shakes. I haven’t slept for I dunno how long.”  
“That usually happens when the dose is increased suddenly. After nights of not sleeping, you would’ve crashed and slept for days…” The doctor opened the folder and wrote down a couple of lines. “Anything else?” 

Biting his lip, TJ fearfully looked up at the doctor.  
“I – I think I also hallucinated once.”

Again, Dr. Young didn’t react as TJ expected. They might as well have been talking about yardwork.  
“That was probably due to the high doses you were taking _and_ your lack of sleep.” He wrote down another couple of lines before closing the file. “In fact, you’re here because you overdosed.”  
“_Overdosed?_”  
“Your doses were higher than what your body could handle. As you must know, overdosing is an _extremely_ serious complication of using drugs.” 

Because that’s what they were: drugs. TJ sounded regretful when he agreed.  
“I didn’t mean to–”  
“So I imagine. The question now is, will it happen again?” Dr. Young made a short pause before shrugging. “My educated guess is ‘yes’: in order to get the same effects, you’re going to need higher and higher doses as your body gets used to what you take. Whenever your body can’t manage whatever amount you use, you will overdose again, and then the consequences, such as kidney damage, might be permanent.” 

What was the point of giving him fluids through the tubes if his body would expel them through his eyes? The doctor sighed, not unkindly, as TJ started crying: in only two weeks he’d turned into a fuckwit that had risked his life for shit. Because it hadn’t even worked – he had still been suspended from the team.  
“So you know what you have to do, right?” 

TJ nodded despairingly.  
“Can I hear you say it?” 

TJ cleared his throat, but he still spoke brokenly.  
“I’ve got to stop taking them.”  
“Yes. And it won’t be easy – you won’t be able to do it without help.”

That’s what Reed kept saying. He briefly wondered if Reed had told anyone at school yet. He briefly wondered if Reed would still want to help; if he’d still be his friend.  
“That means,” Dr. Young continued, “that you should probably start by telling your parents.” 

Without thinking, TJ extended his arm and gripped the doctor’s hand tightly.  
“Please don’t tell them. I won’t take them ever again, I promise, just don’t tell them.” 

Dr. Young placed his free hand on top of TJ’s.  
“State laws say I can’t tell them about your drug abuse if you don’t want me to, even though you’re a minor.” He let go. TJ didn’t. “But I do think they’d provide the support you’ll need to get through this. After all, you’ll be discharged in a couple of days, when our treatment ends, but getting rid of what caused all of this will take longer.” 

TJ let the doctor’s hand go, slumping against his pillow in defeat.  
“We can provide as much information as you need on different programs that can help you. But I do recommend you talk to them: it will make everything easier.” 

TJ considered what Dr. Young said for a moment, biting his lip and looking out to the hallway through the window. One look at his parents was enough to convince him–

_He wouldn’t tell them anything._

\---

He was discharged three days later. The morning was warm, so it didn’t feel like spring, and it didn’t feel like a Saturday either. Maybe it was because he had missed two school days, stuck in a room with too-white walls.

How much would he have to do to catch up? Would he even be able to do so? What about his Ancient History midterm? And what about the detentions and suspension? Did his parents even know about them or would he have to tell them when they got home?

Exhausted and depressed, he tried to clear his mind, his head lolling against the headrest on the quiet ride. He couldn’t: out of the hospital, he could no longer ignore all that had happened. And he could no longer control his anxiousness about all that might result from Reed telling on him. But they were home soon enough, and he climbed up the stairs, falling on his bed, and falling asleep.

\---

A soft shake woke him.  
“TJ,” his mom said quietly, “rise and shine: a friend of yours is waiting for you downstairs.” 

TJ snapped awake.  
“Who?” 

But his mom was already walking out the door. 

TJ got up and followed her, his heart beating wildly, everything moving in slow motion. It couldn’t be Reed, he thought, because his mom wouldn’t have been happy to see him.

Was it Cyrus? His parents liked Cyrus.

And then he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to the living room.

It was Buffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated in the notes above, here goes the medical jargon's explanation:
> 
> _–ppen, 14-year-old male_ Paramedics start with the patient's general info (TJ starts paying attention when the paramedic is almost done saying his name). The nurse asks all of this again because it's a way to engage the patient, to confirm everything's correct, and to fill out any missing details.
> 
> _Seizure_ In the broadest sense of the term, it's characterized by loss of consciousness and uncontrollable jerking, which is how Buffy found him. That can be caused by epilepsy, severely low blood sugar, electrolyte imbalances (due to dehydration, mainly), or an Adderall overdose, among other reasons.
> 
> _BP 90/70_ 'Blood pressure'. Usually around 120/80, this means that he has low blood pressure. That can result from dehydration, but also from high fever.
> 
> _Heart rate 120_ TJ has tachycardia, which means his heart is beating too fast. That is a symptom of Adderall overdose, and also of high fevers.
> 
> _Respiratory 28_ 'Respiratory rate'. It should be around 20, so this means he's breathing too fast. That is why he has a nasal cannula (transparent tube-like thing people have on TV all the time) - to provide oxygen so he can breathe easier. Breathing too fast is also a symptom of Adderall overdose.
> 
> _Temperature 41°C_ Since our body temperature is usually between 36°C and 37°C, TJ has a very high fever (our brain starts frying at 42°C). Fever is a symptom of Adderall overdose.
> 
> _Glucotest showed 87_ Buffy thinks he has epilepsy because she found him convulsing. She also suggests he might be diabetic because, as mentioned earlier, extremely low blood sugar can also cause seizures (I'm hoping they taught her that in Health class, or that she took a first aid course or something, lol). A Glucotest (which is a test for blood glucose levels) shows that his blood glucose is within the normal range. The paramedic doesn't mention any results for an 'epilepsy test' because they don't have any.
> 
> _No visible injuries_ They always have to check, especially because an injury to the head can cause loss of consciousness and seizures.
> 
> _Disoriented_ Might be a symptom of the fever, the post-seizure resting period ('postictal state') or the Adderall overdose.
> 
> _His vision’s blurry and that he’s tired_ The first is a symptom of Adderall overdose, because he's referring to developing actual blurred vision, and not vision blurred by tears. The second can be a symptom of the fever, the post-seizure resting period ('postictal state') or the Adderall overdose.
> 
> _Agitated and has lost consciousness_ Both are related to both dehydration and Adderall overdoses.
> 
> _We provided saline_ They can't really medicate him if he's all over the place.
> 
> _ Positive for rhabdo_ 'Rhabdomyolisis' is a breakdown of muscle tissue, and it's very serious because it can damage kidneys (in which case urine turns dark red or brown). It's a symptom of heat stroke, severe dehydration or Adderall overdose.
> 
> During the 'differential diagnosis' stage of diagnosing a patient, doctors look at everything that might cause the patient's symptoms and basically use a process of elimination to decide what's wrong. While all of these symptoms can be caused by more conditions than those I mention, in TJ's case, the doctor decided to test him for amphetamines (which is, in broad terms, what addys are; there are no specific tests for Adderall that I know of) because of his age bracket (Adderall misuse and abuse is common from around middle school all the way to college) and the combination of symptoms he's presenting. His results were positive.
> 
> As per usual procedure, his clothing is all cut off, and ice packs are placed on his groin, chest and underarms to cool him off quickly so that they can get his fever under control. 
> 
> Finally, the procedure I mention is the doctor putting in a 'subclavian central venous line' (or 'subclavian central line'). It's extemely… intense (really, look it up on Youtube, ugh; it might make your stomach turn). Central lines are placed for many reasons, but in TJ's case it's because he needed a large amount of fluids to help counter the effects of rhabdomyolisis so that his kidneys weren't permanently damaged. It can also be used to medicate (that is why it can have several tubes, called 'lumens') and to draw blood samples.
> 
> On a side note, each US state really has laws regarding the disclosure by medical health professionals to parents and guardians, of minors' drug abuse and sexual health decisions. As a state, I placed Midwest on the most minor-accommodating end of that spectrum. Also, TJ is already showing signs of Adderall withdrawal. I'll explain those in the next chapter's end notes.


	9. Babbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t hide his surprise.  
“Buffy?” She nodded enthusiastically.
> 
> Odd: she was glad to see him. And it discomfited him because their last interaction hadn’t really been the high point of their… connection? Although, to be fair, every other time that they’d spoken to each other also hadn’t been it. He frowned.  
“What are you doing here?”
> 
> She raised her eyebrows.  
“I came to see how you were, you know, after… all the…” She rubbed a hand against her jeans. “…thing.”
> 
> Well, at least they were both feeling awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of dialogue in this one.

He couldn’t hide his surprise.  
“Buffy?” She nodded enthusiastically.

Odd: she was glad to see him. And it discomfited him because their last interaction hadn’t really been the high point of their… connection? Although, to be fair, every other time that they’d spoken to each other also hadn’t been it. He frowned.  
“What are you doing here?”

She raised her eyebrows.  
“I came to see how you were, you know, after… all the…” She rubbed a hand against her jeans. “…thing.” 

Well, at least they were both feeling awkward. He tried to forget that he’d had tubes in him hours earlier, and shrugged. It was her turn to frown.  
“What does that mean?” She copied his shrug. 

He shrugged again.  
“That I’m fine, I guess.”  
“Fine? I found you–”  
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” TJ waved his hand dismissively. “They told me.” 

Her frown deepened.  
“And what did they tell you it was?” 

Thankfully, he’d been expecting this question, although he’d thought he wouldn’t have to answer it until Monday.  
“Heatstroke.” 

Buffy crossed her arms.  
“Heatstroke?” TJ nodded. Her voice was flat. “You had a seizure and all that because you had heatstroke on a mild spring afternoon? Without exercising?”  
“Hey,” he said, pretending to be offended. “I’m not a doctor.”  
“Obviously,” she muttered. He rolled his eyes.

He should have known that she’d see right through him. Hell, he should have researched it better, so that his alleged illness made sense. But now there was no going back, as word of it would probably start going around soon.

Especially since that’s what his parents thought he’d had.

He decided to throw in a weird word and try his luck.  
“They said that that’s why I had fever, and that I was so dehydrated that it hurt my kidneys. That’s called Rhabdo… Rhabdo-something or other.” 

It seemed like she was still not buying it, but she graciously let it go.  
“Well, whatever it was, we were all really worried about you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if your dad hadn’t gotten my number to keep me posted.”

Did she know she’d just given him a glimmer of hope? He felt breathless.  
“‘We’?”  
“You know, us.” She sounded confused. “Andi, Cyrus and me.” 

He was stunned.  
“All three? You, and Andi, and Cyrus, too?” She chuckled.  
“Yeah: me and Andi and ‘Cyrus, too’.”  
“I – I thought you guys hated me, after–” He swallowed. “After all that happened with Reed.” 

She smiled.  
“Don’t get me wrong, we still hate you for that.” Her smile widened. “But we don’t hate you _that _much.” 

So it was fixed, _it was fixed._ Everything was fixed–

He hadn’t lost Cyrus after all. _He hadn’t lost Cyrus. He hadn’t lost everything._  


He beamed.  
“So, we’re good?” 

Her gaze was warm.  
“Yeah, we are.” And then she opened her arms. He stared. “You’re supposed to come closer so we can hug now,” she explained, supposedly exasperated, but without any heat to it. 

He shook his head.  
“I don’t hug.” He stammered.  
“Fine, then, your loss.” They looked at each other for a moment, and it was awkward again. “So… I think that’s it.” She cocked her head. “Wanna walk me out?” 

And he bit his lip, worried, as he accompanied her to the door. He’d surely hallucinated the extremely surreal conversation they’d just had, because the real Buffy would’ve been screaming at him the whole time. But then, as his hand touched the doorknob, she suddenly circled his waist with her arms.

He tensed up when she pressed a side of her face against his chest, sighing. Could she hear his heart frantically trying to beat its way out of his ribcage?

Maybe she couldn’t.  
“I’m so glad you’re ok.” Her voice was quiet. “I’d never been so scared.” 

Trying to control his nerves, he gingerly patted her back.  
“Me neither.” And then, though it didn’t seem necessary, he decided he’d say it. “Thank you.” 

She nodded and let go.

\---

Then it all went downhill.

He tried, he really did, but he could barely have dinner, anxiousness eating up his insides though he had no reason to be on edge. He ended up concentrating on not letting the fork slip out of his sweaty hand, and on drumming his other fingers on his thigh, out of his parents’ view.

But his agitation worsened. He tried focusing on his small victories, congratulating himself for resisting the urge to pull his hair, and for waiting out until he finished the meal before freaking out, though all he’d really wanted to do while he was sitting at the table was to run away. But he couldn’t go upstairs now: it’d make his parents think he was ill again.

So, desperate for a distraction, he rigidly sat on the sofa and turned on the TV. He took deep breaths, his lungs crying out for air because he felt like he was drowning, and he selected the first sports channel that came up. They were showing a rerun of the latest game at Shadyside Stadium, played while he was staying at the hospital. He would usually have enjoyed it, but he couldn’t concentrate on it enough to know what was happening on the screen.

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, bending over, trying to hush his mind. He jumped when a hand touched his back.  
“You ok?” 

Stiffening, TJ turned to look at his dad.  
“Yeah, just… tired.” His dad furrowed his brows. 

TJ’d apparently lost his touch: first Buffy, and now his dad, didn’t believe him. Thinking quickly, TJ pretended to badly conceal a yawn.  
“I think I better go to bed,” he said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant as he stood up and walked to the stairs.  
“Don’t forget your water. We don’t want you getting dehydrated again, do we?” 

TJ rolled his eyes: obviously, what his dad would believe was that he’d had heatstroke.

But he played along, walking to the kitchen and filling a glass.

And his hands suddenly started shaking.

\---

His finger hovered above the contact, the brightness of the screen hurting his eyes. He should call him. He wanted to call him.

But what would he say?

He bit his lip and dialed anyway. It rang a couple of times before he answered.  
“_Clusterfuck! I thought you’d died!_” 

TJ scowled: why had he called him again?  
“Hey, Reed.”  
“Woah, no pet name? Are you ok?”  
“Shut up, fucktard.” 

Reed laughed.  
“That’s more like it.” There was a short pause. “You really scared me, man.”  
“I know.” He bit his lip again –seriously, he had to stop doing that– but then he frowned. “How did you find out, though? Don’t tell me my dad also called you.”  
“What? No, dude. I overheard Cyrus and the other girl trying to console Buffy at The Spoon last Wednesday.”  
“Oh.”  
“Kinda too public a place for that, don’t you think? Especially because she is very… detail oriented, so it was like hearing a play-by-play version of it.” 

TJ sighed. She _had_ said the other two were also worried, so of course she’d told them.  
“Was there anyone else around?”  
“Yeah, but she was also very quiet: I only heard her because we were sitting back-to-back. Which was really fortunate, because I think she would’ve kicked my ass if she’d seen me come in.”

For some reason, that made TJ feel guilty.  
“Sorry.”  
“Sorry? Why?” Reed sounded nervous. “Did you do it on purpose?”

God, only Reed would misinterpret him like that.  
“_No, ok?_ Not at all. It was an accident – I… I just kinda overdid it.”  
“_You. Sick. Fuck._ I told you that shit would kill you.” 

That’s it, this conversation needed to lighten up.  
“You never expressly said I’d die.”  
“Yeah, I did.”  
“When?”  
“You know what? Forget it. The important thing is that you’re ok now.” 

TJ shook his head, but his eyes still went to the glass of water innocently sitting on his desk.  
“You _are_ ok now, aren’t you?” Reed’s voice was panicky again. TJ cleared his throat.  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just gotta keep hydrated and stuff.”  
“Right.” Great: yet another person who didn’t blindly accept what he said.  
“I’m not lying. I really am fine.”  
“So the being unconscious and having a seizure thing didn’t affect you?”  
“Ok, first of all, people _have got_ to chill with the seizures. It was only one, and it was short, and it ended three days ago. Second, there was no lasting damage, I swear. The doctors confirmed it.” 

Reed was silent for a moment.  
“What else did they confirm?” 

TJ stared at the ceiling, his desk lamp giving it a dim yellowish tint.  
“They… They did some tests and found out.”  
“Oh man… And what did they say?”  
“Nothing, really. I kinda told them the truth and stuff, but the doctor didn’t say anything.”  
“Really?”  
“Seriously. He didn’t even tell my parents.” 

Reed was quiet again.  
“Well, I – I did tell someone.” 

TJ felt that Reed had pulled the whole planet out from under him, every one of his muscles vibrating, his brain overwrought. But he had to keep it together: Reed had warned him that he’d do it, so it would’ve happened sooner or later. He’d been so aware of it that he’d even brooded over it on the way home.

His stomach still plummeted to his feet.  
“Who did you tell?”  
“I was freaking out, ok?–”  
“Who, Reed?”  
“–I thought you were gonna die, and I couldn’t live with that on my conscience–”  
“_Who the fuck did you tell?_” 

And when Reed whispered the name, a heavy weight settled on TJ’s chest. But he’d heard wrong, he’d definitely heard wrong, right?  
“_Who?_” 

Reed’s voice was miserable.  
“You heard me, dude…” He sniffed. “I–” 

And TJ barely heard him over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.  
“I told Cyrus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The symptoms of Adderall withdrawal change, depending on the amount of days the person has been 'sober'. For the first 1 to 3 days, the person is exhausted and depressed, feeling fatigue that makes them sleep more. However, that sleep is of poor quality, so they don't feel rested. 
> 
> Since the last time TJ took the pills was Wednesday and it's now Saturday, he's switching to the second stage of withdrawal, which can last up to 10 days. In it, the person gets mood swings, going from anxious and agitated, to feeling fatigued and worn out. The person also experiences trouble concentrating and trouble sleeping, and will gradually start feeling body aches and pains (including headaches), and increased appetite. It all ends with paranoia, with the person feeling others are judging them or out to get them.


	10. Anticipating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reed was sorry, he knew Reed was sorry – he could hear Reed’s regret in every word. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because he’d lost Cyrus all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to square one.  
By the way, I didn't know the phrase 'throw the book at' (my native language is Spanish), and I _had_ to use it. In case you haven't heard of it either, it is used informally and means "charge or punish (someone) as severely as possible". English is funny, lol.

Reed was sorry, he knew Reed was sorry – he could hear Reed’s regret in every word. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because he’d lost Cyrus all over again.  
“_He could talk to your dad through Buffy, and the doctors_–” 

TJ numbly ended the call.

His whole world had shifted, disintegrated, but he couldn’t process this type of pain. How could he feel more shattered now than when Cyrus had made him crumble at the swings?

He stared, unseeing, at the ceiling, as tears escaped out of the corners of his eyes. And he slowly curled into a ball, his eyes fixed on the wall until dawn.

\---

He stumbled out of bed in the morning, his eyes red and burning, his body cramping everywhere. He’d need something stronger than Tylenol this time, but there was nothing stronger than that at home. And what would his parents think if they saw him, unmedicated, now? Would they take him back to the hospital? Would the doctors finally tell them what was wrong?

But he was distracted from his thoughts by the creak of the bathroom’s door. And by the coldness of the floor under his feet. And by his reflection in the mirror – he looked like shit and he felt even worse, and there was no way he’d be able to hide it from his mom and dad. For some reason, that made him chuckle. He didn’t even need the doctors to say anything, because it was quite obvious that he was a fucking wreck. And his eyes filled with tears, and his sides hurt, and his chuckles slowly turned into hysterical laughter. The uncontrollable sounds he uttered made him try to silence himself with his hands, as his body shook violently.

And his body continued trembling, rattling his aching brain in his head; and it was a good thing that he tried to silence his laughter because, that way, he also silenced his sobs.

He slid down the wall, pressing his palms so forcefully against his nose and mouth that he could barely breathe. For a moment, he irrationally thought that that would be a good way to go, but then his body disregarded what he wanted, making him move his hands and gasp for air.

Drained, he hugged his knees.

There was no way to fight this. There was no way out of this. Cyrus Goody-Two-Shoes Goodman wasn’t Reed. Cyrus would rat him out, and he’d be expelled, and his parents would find out, and then, what would they do? What would happen to him? Because it was illegal in Midwest to buy addys without a prescription, and it was probably illegal to take too many of them, too.

And he’d never had problems with the law, not counting the whole gun issue. And that one hadn’t even been his fault. But this was. This was.

He could already imagine Cyrus walking up to Metcalf, asking to see him to talk about something. And Metcalf calling in his parents, maybe the counselor, maybe the police. And so many things happening after that, because the universe was plotting against him, and God had never cared.

In the great scheme of things, though, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Cyrus already abhorred him, and that, soon, his parents would, too. What mattered was that he hated himself, that he’d been an idiot that had floundered helplessly after a fight… Because that fight with Cyrus had meant that he had no one to promise him that his whole life wouldn’t be ruined by failing a test. Because that fight with Cyrus had meant that he had no one to refute that there was something wrong with him, that he was stupid, _that he wasn’t enough._

But why did Cyrus’ opinion, Cyrus’ support, mean so much to him? Cyrus was just one of the many teenagers he knew. How could Cyrus have such power over him? When had he let Cyrus have it? And how could he care less about how basketball made him be good, than about how Cyrus tried to make him be kind? He’d been sure that there was nothing worse than being suspended from the team, but here he was, gone to shit by the mere thought of Cyrus not wanting to have anything to do with him. Again.

Because Cyrus didn’t really accept him: Cyrus wanted him to be better, _that’s_ what fucked him up. So how could he fear Cyrus knowing about the pills, when he knew Cyrus only wanted what was best for him?

_He could fear Cyrus, because Cyrus always did what was right._ And, in this case, that meant Cyrus would throw the book at TJ with all his strength.

He shook his head and stood up – if that was the case, he’d go down really deserving to be punished. So he walked back to his room, the glass of water still on his desk, the addys still in his bottom drawer.

Wavering for a second, just a second, as he closed the door behind him, he bit his lip and thought he shouldn’t go down that road again. 

But then the voice in his head reminded him why he was doing this: because, soon enough, he’d know who Cyrus, _high-horsed Cyrus_, had told about the addys _for his own good_. Soon enough, he’d have even less than what he was left with last Wednesday night. Soon enough–

He shuddered.

But the pills calmed him, and they would help him hang on until then, so his hand reached for his dresser.

All he had to do was not up the dose suddenly. That’s all he had to do to not get sick again. The doctor had said he should’ve paced himself the first time, hadn’t he?

But why should he pace himself if tomorrow he’d go on trial? 

He opened the drawer, drying his tears with one hand, using the other to take out the bottle from underneath his basketball shorts.

_God, this was stupid._

But he was stupid, too.

\---

As before, he was unable to sleep, and he looked at his phone constantly to see how much time had passed, so he could take the meds again. His heart ached as he looked at his bottom drawer, but he only faltered for a moment when the hours were up. 

He just hoped that the meds would work and that his headache would fade before he left home. And he hoped he would stop resenting himself and his horrible decision-making skills before then, too, as he tried to convince himself that he’d done the right thing – at least his body didn’t hurt anymore.

He’d still dragged his feet on his way to school, foolishly glad that it was Monday already. After all, his Sunday had started with him losing control and had lasted far too long, full of time tracking and sneaking around and successfully pretending he was ok. And he’d rolled his shoulders and he’d kept his eyes on the ground as he walked, dread pooling in his stomach: knowing Cyrus, he would’ve already told someone. And that would just be the beginning of the end of everything–

Which started with him coming upon a pair of black dress shoes. His gaze traveled up, up, up, until he was nervously staring at Metcalf’s face.  
“Mr. Kippen.” As always, the principal’s voice was hard. “Please come with me.” 

TJ silently followed him, almost jogging to catch up with Metcalf’s brisk pace. He knew where he was being led to, and why, and he tried to find his parents, or the counselor, or even an officer, in the halls. He didn’t, but it made sense, as they were probably already sitting in the principal’s office, waiting for him.

And someone _was_ waiting for him there–

Coleman.

TJ frowned, blinking rapidly. The fuck? His chest tightened: surely Cyrus hadn’t told Coleman? Was this man going to plague him to death?  
“Please sit down.” 

TJ obeyed the principal without thinking. This time he did wring his hands.  
“What’s going on?” 

Coleman answered.  
“We were informed of what happened last Wednesday, and of its cause.” 

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit. _He was going to be expelled, and they’d call his mom–

But something Metcalf said suddenly broke his train of thought.  
“What?” 

Coleman frowned.  
“Mr. Kippen, there’s no need for this.” 

TJ shook his head, wide-eyed.  
“I’m sorry, I – I kinda zoned out for a bit.” He turned to Metcalf, not daring to hope he’d understood correctly the first time. “Would you please repeat what you said?” 

The principal raised an eyebrow, seemingly wary of TJ’s unusual politeness, but obliged.  
“_Summarizing_, I said that it’s now unfortunately and overwhelmingly clear that you were, in fact, unwell when we discussed giving you a make-up test last week. Seeing as that is the case, both Mr. Coleman and I would like to apologize for not accommodating your request to postpone it.”  
“I have a free period on Friday,” Coleman added, “and I’ll prepare something simpler – just a quiz. Do you think you'll be well enough to take it then?” 

But TJ didn’t answer, squeezing his eyes shut and placing his head in his hands instead–

Because, by Friday, they would know, so it wouldn’t matter. By Friday, he wouldn’t be a student at Jefferson anymore.

\---

He had to stop coming apart: it was a miracle that Metcalf hadn’t sent him home right then and there. He didn’t even remember what had happened in that office after his breakdown had ended; hopefully, it was irrelevant.

What wasn’t irrelevant was the knot in his stomach, which he was trying to ignore. But his brain insisted: _wasn’t he supposed to be feeling better by now?_ Because, yes, the pills had made him feel better in the past–

He bit his lip, his mind so clouded that he couldn’t even think.

And his brain wouldn’t slow down, wouldn’t stop working in overdrive, making it impossible for him to listen to the voice in his head. And the headache had returned, and he couldn’t make it stop because he hadn’t brought the pill bottle to school, as he’d thought that he wouldn’t need the next dose until after he got home. Maybe he’d calculated the hours wrong? Yeah, maybe: he didn’t really want to take them, the very thought of swallowing _anything_ making him spiral, bringing the memory of tubes inside him to the front of his mind.

He didn’t feel like he could breathe until he walked outside.

The change of scenery was soothing, and he rolled his shoulders again as he walked. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. But that didn’t matter, so he concentrated on the cloudless sky, and on the sun, shining brightly, and on the cool breeze that made him shiver now and then. And then he was there, and he lay down, and he closed his eyes.

He’d been right: going to the bleachers during lunch, instead of staying where Cyrus or Reed could approach him, had been a smart move…

But then he heard them: determined footsteps coming closer. He frowned and bit his lip again, but he didn’t open his eyes. The person stopped next to him.

And he would recognize that scent anywhere–

_Fresh muffins, chocolate chocolate chip_.


	11. Confessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were quiet for a moment, and it would’ve been nice, if it weren’t for the painful constriction in his chest that made it hard to breathe. And if it weren’t for the fact that he dreaded speaking with Cyrus.
> 
> He could no longer evade the dark-haired boy, though, so they might as well get it over with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes one needs to monologue out one's soul.

They were quiet for a moment, and it would’ve been nice, if it weren’t for the painful constriction in his chest that made it hard to breathe. And if it weren’t for the fact that he dreaded speaking with Cyrus.

He could no longer evade the dark-haired boy, though, so they might as well get it over with. But what should he say?  
“Who did you tell?” That sounded right.  
“No one.” 

Cyrus didn’t falter, but TJ always knew when he was being lied to. How could Cyrus forget that?  
“Who did you tell?” He repeated, more forcefully this time. 

And, this time, he could hear Cyrus shifting.  
“Just my dad.” 

So Cyrus had lied. And Cyrus was still lying: he was sure that Cyrus had told the others, too.

TJ clenched his jaw, the corners of his mouth turning downward, but he couldn’t fault Cyrus: he understood. He understood that Cyrus was telling the others so that they could realize that he was no good. And now, what would the others do?

The lump in his throat was choking him, but he was somehow able to brokenly ask one question.  
“Why?” 

He had meant it in general. Cyrus didn’t seem to understand.  
“Because I wanna help you.”  
“I don’t need your help.”  
“Yes, you–” Far away, the bell signaling the end of lunch rang.  
“You’re gonna be late,” he stated, opening his eyes.  
“It doesn’t matter.” Cyrus replied. “We need to talk this out.”

TJ glared at Cyrus and sat up.  
“No, we don’t.”  
“Yes, we do.” Cyrus frowned. “Look, I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I’m trying to–”  
“To fix me? You’ve tried that enough.” 

Cyrus raised his eyebrows, eyes wide.  
“What? I–”  


Cyrus hadn’t let him speak at the swings. Why should he hear Cyrus out now? He stood up.  
“You think I’m shit. That’s what you were gonna say, right?”  
“No! I–”  
“I agree, I’m shit, but _I’m trying_.”  
“TJ, I’ve never–”  
“Why can’t you accept me as I am?”  
“I do!” Cyrus’ eyebrows moved higher still. “It’s just–”  
“The police, and the exam, and the pills?” 

Cyrus answer was obvious from the way he averted his gaze. TJ huffed.  
“I haven’t made a habit of doing any of those.” 

Cyrus looked at him again.  
“Reed told me you’re taking–”  
“And you really think I still am? After what happened?” His tone was disbelieving, and he couldn’t suppress an angry chuckle. “Fucking A.” 

He tried to sidestep Cyrus, but Cyrus blocked him, raising his hands.  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, ok? Just – please, stay,” Cyrus implored. “I really want to understand, and – and to help. So, just – talk, ok? Let’s just talk.”  
“_Now_ you wanna talk?” TJ chuckled again. He was sure he’d become hysterical if he kept this up. “Fine. What do you wanna talk about? Wanna talk about the pills?” 

Cyrus grimaced, likely regretting his suggestion, but TJ couldn’t and didn’t want to stop.  
“Then let’s talk about that. Let’s talk about the pills. Let’s talk about how taking them was the best thing that I’ve done since I met you, because I didn’t think about you once this past few weeks. Do you have any idea how liberating that is, not having you in my head?” 

He couldn’t even decipher Cyrus expression anymore, but it was obvious he hadn’t been expecting what TJ said.  
“And I came to a realization: I’m tired of being annoyed by – no, of being pissed at you for treating me like I’m never good enough.”  
“How can you be so oblivious? How can you not know? I _have never_ thought that of you. You’ve got it completely wrong: I–”  
“–just like telling me that everything I think and say and do is wrong?” 

Cyrus flushed.  
“_When have I ever–_” 

But TJ burned, hating how Cyrus could even _think_ about contradicting the truth–

And he lost it. He lost it, forgetting where he was, and what was happening, and why, as he became engrossed in how his sweaty hand felt when he clenched it so tight that his blunt fingernails dug painfully into his palm. And how his arm felt, his muscles slowly tensing up all the way up to his shoulder.

And how his fist felt as it flew through the cool air briefly, briefly, before it finally struck Cyrus’ delicate face.

And he could feel soft skin, just a bit of skin, maybe bone, breaking under his knuckles, and sharp pain blossoming from the point where their bodies connected. And he could see, in a daze, Cyrus stumbling backwards, the back of his legs hitting the bleachers, his hands flying up to his shocked face, only to be stained by the bright red blood pouring out of his nose. And he could see the surprise and the hurt in Cyrus’ eyes, and he could see it all without caring about the consequences.

But then his hallucination ended and, not having heard a word of what Cyrus had said, he said what was on his mind.  
“You’ve done it over and over again: when you called me ‘scary basketball guy’ without knowing me–”  
“You were intimidating!”  
“When you ran out on Reed and Lester, instead of telling them that what they were doing was stupid–”  
“_How could I stay?”_

TJ continued, less disoriented now, and his eyes watered.  
“When you _assumed _that I didn’t think that there was anything wrong with what they did. When you _assumed_ that I had no reason at all to lie to the police. When you _believed_ Buffy and Coleman when they said I’d cheated. When you didn’t let me speak at the swings, _because you wanted to tell me that there was no good in me_.” 

And he was crying openly, his voice trembling, _because it hurt_.  
“And now, when you believe I’m still taking addys.” He looked to the sky, trying to find a cloud to focus on, but there were none. There was nothing. He squeezed his eyes shut. “And I admit I want to take them _so fucking bad_ –I can’t think, I can’t sleep, I can’t _anything_– but I haven’t. _Even when I had them in my hands_, I didn’t.” 

And he was sobbing, and he tried to take a deep breath, but he still felt like he’d drowned.  
“And I’ve only taken meds since I left the hospital, almost choking on the two fucking Tylenols each time because I can no longer swallow pills without gagging.” He could no longer hear his own voice. Could Cyrus hear him? “But you imagined what you wanted, judging me again and again, without letting me win.” 

He glanced at Cyrus before lowering his head. Cyrus wasn’t hiding his tears, shaking, speechless, his open hand reaching for TJ’s arm.

TJ moved away.  
“No.” He sighed. “No. I’m tired, Cyrus. I’m tired of it all. And I’m–” He sighed again. “I’m tired of you.” 

He could hear the anguish in Cyrus’ voice, but he couldn’t look at him or pay attention to Cyrus’ words or care – he’d had enough. So he just shook his head wearily.  
“Cyrus, just go.” And he could breathe again, suddenly calming down, because he knew that he was about to do the right thing. “Go to class. Go tell your parents, go tell Metcalf and your friends. Hell, go tell my parents, too. Do whatever you want, tell them whatever you want, fuck me up. It won’t be the first time you do it, Cyrus, but–”  
“It’s ‘Underdog’,” Cyrus corrected desperately.  
“No.” TJ said, looking up. “You said it isn’t.” 

And he turned toward the field. Cyrus didn’t stop him as he heavily walked down the metal rows.

And he kept walking: walking away from the bleachers, walking away from the school. And he kept breaking away from Cyrus, blocking Cyrus’ number as he walked home.

\---

But the bittersweet peace that he’d felt was short-lived: dinner was nerve-wracking and his stomach churned, because he worried about how much his parents knew. All that had happened, however, was that his mom had asked him insistently if he was ill again, before chewing him out for not calling his dad to pick him up. Frowning, he started thinking that he’d miscalculated, and he panicked.

Because, for a moment, he feared that he’d have tubes thrust into his chest again, under his right clavicle. Or that he’d be tested for drugs, and that then his parents would know…

He bit his lip, keeping one of his shaking hands under the table, aware that he didn’t have much time: his parents were almost done eating, and if he didn’t do it before the meal ended, he never would. So breathing fast, getting dizzy, he slowly raised what he was holding, and placed it on the table in front of him. His dad immediately stopped speaking.  
“What is that?” His mom whispered, a quiver in her voice. How could she not recognize what type of bottle it was? He ignored her question.  
“I – I’ve been taking these. That’s – that’s why I got sick.”  
“You’ve… You’ve been taking pills?” He nodded disconsolately. “D – drugs?” 

He couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at them.

She burst into tears.

But he couldn’t hear his dad saying anything, doing anything–

And that terrified him, because his dad wasn’t an emotional man – he was a wrathful one.

And the chair scraped back loudly as his dad stood up–

And his heart was racing, nearly exploding, because it didn’t seem like his mom would intervene–

And he tried to hold back a whimper–

When his dad roughly gripped his arm, almost crushing it, and violently lifted him from his seat.


	12. Surrendering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His dad had never laid a hand on him. His dad had never laid a hand on him. How had he reduced his dad to this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After hitting rock bottom, TJ can only break.  
This chapter includes one of the most intense scenes of the fic. It's extremely short but, TW: child abuse.

His dad had never laid a hand on him. His dad had never laid a hand on him. _How had he reduced his dad to this?_

The grip around his arm tightened painfully, and his dad shook him again.  
“_Where did you get them?_” 

He had to tell him, he had to tell him to make it stop.  
“I bought them online,” he cried. His dad almost pulled him off his feet, twisting up his arm. His hand prickled before going numb.  
“Don’t lie to me! It was Reed, wasn’t it?”  
“No! No–”  
“_That little shit!_”  
“I swear, Dad,” he sobbed, “I swear!” 

It was getting hard to breathe through his tears, and his dad would surely dislocate his shoulder before long.  
“Dad, please!”  
“_How could you?_”  
“I’m sorry, Dad, I’m sorry – Dad, _please_ –” 

Please _what?_ He couldn’t get the words out, he didn’t dare get the words out, he didn’t dare, because he deserved this. And he deserved so much more.

And his whole side was throbbing, his arm on fire, his dad’s fingerprints probably branded through his hoodie and t-shirt, all the way onto his skin. And he squeezed his eyes shut so tight that he was seeing stars. But his dad didn’t let go.

Could his dad break bones?

Would he?

And then a hand fisted his hair and yanked it. He hissed in pain and he bit his lip to avoid making a sound, the taste of copper on his tongue.

He deserved this. He deserved this.

And his dad pulled him closer, burying TJ’s face in his chest. And his arm covered part of TJ’s face, and his arms dug into TJ’s shoulders, and his arms crushed TJ’s head and TJ’s neck and the top of TJ’s back–

And–

Oh God, _oh God_–

_TJ couldn’t breathe._

TJ couldn’t breathe, pressed as he was against his dad, he couldn’t breathe, and hot tears left his eyes, but they were dried by the fabric before they touched his cheeks–

And he was trying, he was trying, he was trying, he was struggling to clench his dad’s shirt in his hands, to pull him off, to pull him off–

And he was getting lightheaded, and he was getting desperate, and he was suffocating, he was suffocating–

And his dad was smothering him, _his dad was smothering him, and that’s how he’d die_–

_He’d die murdered by his own dad_–

Because, _God_, he was dying, he was dying–

And his dad sank to his knees, pulling TJ with him–

And his arms moved, and TJ could _breathe_–

TJ could breathe, _he could breathe again_, and he took big, loud, wet gulps of air, his heart running, running–

And he noticed his dad was wailing as loudly as his mom was.

His dad hadn’t meant to hurt him, his dad hadn’t meant to hurt him, his dad hadn’t meant to hurt him, his dad hadn’t meant to hurt him–

He repeated it over and over again in his head, trying to stomp out the horrifying thought he’d had of his dad willingly killing him–

And of him deserving it.

And he couldn’t stop his tears.

\---

He didn’t know how long it took for all of them to calm down. An hour? A year?

Did it matter?

And they were all spent, his mom sagging in her chair, his dad sagging against the table’s leg, him just sagging. And they really had no strength left to speak, but that didn’t mean his dad wouldn’t try.  
“Why did you do it?” he whispered. 

TJ, who’d been staring at the floor, raised his gaze.  
“School,” was all he replied. It seemed to be enough.  
“And you got sick–” 

To answer this, he had to make more sense.  
“I took too many.” 

He could see his parents breaking again.  
“Why?” His mom’s voice was raw, as raw as theirs was.  
“Accident.” 

She nodded tiredly. His dad shook his head, before putting his face in his hands.  
“God, TJ.” He sighed. “Good God.” 

TJ tried his best, but he was crying again. At least he was silent. His mom sniffled. Apparently, she was crying, too.  
“We’ve got to fix this.”  
“I stopped taking them,” he said, feeling as guilty as if he hadn’t. 

His dad lifted his head.  
“It’s not that simple.” TJ bit his bruised lip: before he’d heard whatever his dad was going to say, he knew his dad was right. “How can we make sure that you don’t buy them again? That you don’t take them again? That you don’t grow up taking anything else?”

He swallowed, hating having gotten himself into this, having gotten his parents into this.  
“I won’t. I promise I won’t.” But he knew that that meant shit to them. His mom’s words confirmed it.  
“How can we know that’s true?” She frowned. “How can you?” 

He cried harder.  
“I know because I told you.” He was shaking now. “And because – because I give up.” The lump in his throat grew. “I’m asking you to help me, mom.” And his voice broke. “_Please, help me. I can’t do this alone._” 

And his dad hugged him again, and he closed his eyes.

\---

The night was long and, as the hours ticked by, he told them. He told them how he got them, without implicating Lester or Jeremy. He told them about Reed trying, repeatedly, to help him, without success. He told them about Buffy saving him without knowing. He told them about Cyrus finding out and telling his psychiatrist dad, without his consent.

He made sure not to tell them anything else.

And his parents asked for Cyrus’ house phone number and called Mr. Goodman, even though it was almost midnight, to ask for an emergency session. And his parents agreed that he’d miss school the next day to go see Cyrus’ dad. And TJ wondered if his life would forever revolve around the brown-haired boy, like it had since he’d helped him get a muffin, chocolate chocolate chip.

\---

Funnily enough, Cyrus’ dad worked with addicts, too. TJ would’ve laughed if all of this didn’t suck so bad.

And Mr. Goodman –no, Doctor– asked him to tell him why his parents had made the appointment. That’s all he asked. But, for some reason, that made TJ break, and he started bawling like a fucking child.

And he told him everything, from the quarry to the overdose to his last fight with Cyrus. On second thought, he probably shouldn’t have told him anything regarding his son, but he couldn’t help it – Cyrus was an integral part of who he was now. He couldn’t live without him.

He didn’t want to live without him.

And he didn’t fear being admitted, like Sam, or what his parents would do with him once they got sick of his shit, or what would happen with school; he feared nothing but losing Cyrus.

But he’d pushed him away. He’d pushed him away, so he’d lost him for a second time.

Because Cyrus had been willing to talk to him, maybe argue with him, but he’d still showed up. And TJ had fought with him, and their conversation hadn’t even made sense. It was like TJ had just dumped all his fucking feelings on Cyrus, when none of this was Cyrus’ fault. And, yeah, everything had happened because he’d been distracted in class after they’d fought about the gun, that’s true, but he didn’t concentrate because he didn’t want to, not because Cyrus had done anything wrong. In fact, Cyrus had obviously been unaffected by their fight and hadn’t taken any pills. Why had he?

Wow, Dr. Goodman was good – he’d admitted all of that in one session?

And Dr. Goodman patiently heard him vent and cry and express things in ways that he probably shouldn’t, at least not in front of an adult, or, at least, not in front of the father of a friend.

But was Cyrus even his friend at this point?

The doctor didn’t seem to mind, interjecting a question or two here and there to clarify whatever the hell he was raving about. And he was tired, so, so tired, that he was thankful when he finally shut up and the doctor spoke.  
“Thank you, TJ, for sharing with me what you’ve said today.” 

_Really? After I took up your whole morning?_ TJ thought, but he didn’t say anything: his throat was dry from talking for so long.  
“As a psychiatrist, I usually do not counsel my patients. My function is more related to prescribing medication–” 

TJ’s stomach sunk: he had just wasted their time. Dr. Goodman, however, seemed perfectly fine with having listened to his disjointed speech for forty minutes.  
“And I do think that you would benefit from the medical treatment I can provide. But, more than that, I think that talking to someone would be helpful. From what I understand, I think that you are under a lot of stress, and that can complicate your recovery. Being able to just sit down with someone you can trust, someone you feel comfortable with, telling them only what you wish to discuss, just to help you sort out your thoughts and feelings, would be nice, at the very least. Does that make sense?” 

TJ nodded, biting his lip. That’s what he’d done with Cyrus. Before he’d lost him, that is.

Dr. Goodman smiled kindly.  
“Would you like me to look up some therapists for you? Or would you prefer to do it on your own?” 

TJ shook his head and swallowed.  
“I’ll – I’ll think about it,” he said softly. Dr. Goodman didn’t seem upset by his answer.  
“Very well.” He turned to get a pad and a pen. The pad had his name artfully printed on the heading. Nice. “Then let’s see what we can work on, together. Would you like your parents to come in, so I can also explain to them the uses, dosage and other details of what I will prescribe you?” 

TJ frowned, but agreed, and Dr. Goodman let his parents in.

\---

The ride back home from the pharmacy was quiet. TJ, still hurt by Dr. Goodman not really acknowledging how important everything he’d told him was, didn’t feel like talking, and his parents, both seemingly off in Lalaland, didn’t say anything either.

Or, more accurately, they didn’t say anything until they got home.

His dad stopped him before he went upstairs, just by placing a hand on his forearm. His whole side was still sore – he barely suppressed a wince.  
“Would you do me a favor?” 

TJ looked at his dad warily, then at his mom, but she didn’t seem surprised. Had they discussed it beforehand?

Did it matter? After all he’d put them through, could he say ‘no’?  
“Yeah?” 

His parents relaxed slightly, and his dad gave him a small smile.  
“Ask your friends if they can come over this afternoon.” 

His heart went haywire: his parents had been alone with Dr. Goodman during the last ten minutes of the session.  
“My friends?” 

His voice wasn’t as steady as he’d wanted it to be. His dad raised an eyebrow, confused.  
“Yeah: Cyrus and Reed.”

Had the doctor told them what TJ had said? Because, when he’d spoken with Dr. Goodman, he’d told him everything–  
“What? Why?” 

_Shit._ He definitely sounded alarmed now. His dad frowned.  
“Why? Because I freaking said so, that’s why.” 

His mom touched his dad’s back, apparently trying to placate him, and, afraid, TJ nodded. After all, his dad’s hand was still on his forearm, and he didn’t want a repeat of last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the first scene, Mr. Kippen is understandably feeling too many things at once, but when he pulls TJ close, he's pulling TJ into a bear hug, his fingers -in his mind- buried and not fisted in TJ's hair. I say this because I'm not sure if I wrote it out clearly enough. tl;dr TJ's dad's not trying to kill TJ. 
> 
> I'm from a country were discipline is harsh, so what happens in this chapter would never be considered child abuse. However, I've heard that, in some countries, even raising one's voice is penalized. To be on the safe side, I trigger-warned it. If you're from a country where this is bad, I'm sorry. If you're from a country like mine, where this isn't bad, I'm sorry, too, and I hope this or anything worse than this hasn't happened to you.


	13. Guarding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fear in those words was palpable – TJ wasn’t the only one that knew that his dad had a temper. But Reed also knew that his dad had never hit anyone, didn’t he?  
“He won’t hurt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to helping TJ, Reed definitely thinks outside the box...  
This chapter was delayed by problems with my keyboard, and with characters that keep making the story go off the rails, lol.

_Ok._

That was it. That was all Cyrus had replied. But he guessed that that was better than Reed’s radio silence…

Had Reed finally given up on him?

Thinking about it made his stomach churn.

And he had to take his mind off of it, he had to or he’d go insane, so he put on a hoodie, pocketed his phone and shouted to his parents that he’d be back soon. Fingers wrapped around his ankle as soon as he stepped out the door.  
“_Fuck!_”  
“What the fuck, dude?” Reed asked, quickly withdrawing his hand and placing it back on his bent knees.

TJ glared at him, but Reed ignored him, seemingly preoccupied with something else.  
“I got your message.” _Ah, there it was._ Reed hugged his knees tighter against himself. “He’s gonna kill me, isn’t he?” 

The fear in those words was palpable – TJ wasn’t the only one that knew that his dad had a temper. But Reed also knew that his dad had never hit anyone, didn’t he?  
“He won’t hurt you,” he said softly. That didn’t seem to help.  
“He probably blames me for everything.” 

Sitting down next to Reed, TJ shook his head.  
“No, no, no, I told them everything. I told them how you tried to help me, and I – I think he just wants to thank you for that.” Oh God, he hoped he was right. 

Reed’s shoulders relaxed a bit.  
“Really?”  
“Definitely.” He really, _really_ hoped he was right. 

Reed sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. TJ could now see that Reed’s bloodshot eyes had dark bags underneath. Was he the cause of this? Not wanting to know the answer to that, he stood up.  
“I’m going for a walk,” he said. “Wanna come?” 

Reed looked up at him gratefully.

\---

Cyrus was already inside when they returned, sitting uneasily on the edge of the sofa, not making eye contact with anyone. Guilt filled TJ again, because it looked like Cyrus had slept as little as Reed.

But he couldn’t dwell on it: his dad motioned them to head to the living room, so they did. He sat on the corner opposite Cyrus, leaving Reed with no choice but to sit between them. Reed narrowed his eyes at him but he didn’t say anything.  
“Thank you for coming,” his dad started. TJ swallowed – this was it. “And thank you for everything you’ve done for TJ.” 

_Oh, thank God: he’d been right_. He heard both Cyrus and Reed quietly exhaling in relief.  
“It can’t have been easy for you, and, for that, TJ is sorry.” 

His dad stared briefly at TJ, and TJ took the hint.  
“I’m sorry.” 

It probably took all of his dad’s willpower to not roll his eyes at TJ.  
“_Thank you, TJ._” His dad shook his head and crossed his arms. “Having said that, we would just like to ask one more favor of you.” 

He could almost _feel_ Cyrus and Reed stiffening.  
“We’ve set up a meeting with the principal, to see if TJ can get after-school lessons to catch up with the classes he’s missed,” his mom explained, “and I was able to get a couple of days off at the end of the month…” 

She faltered. His dad didn’t.  
“And we were wondering if you’d stay with TJ two hours a day until then.”  
“_What?_” 

He felt heat rising in his chest, a blush creeping up his cheeks. What. in the literal. _fuck?_  
“You know the doctor said that it’d be best not to leave you alone, at least for these first few weeks,” his mom said, trying to calm him down. “Between school and us coming home–”  
“We threw all of them out! _I’m not taking them anymore!_ I don’t need babysitters!”  
“What do you need then?” His dad retorted. “Because I _thought_ we’d _agreed_ that you needed help.” 

He could feel Cyrus and Reed’s alarmed gazes on him, but he wouldn’t back down just because his dad was being a dick.  
“_This. isn’t. ‘help’._”  
“And this isn’t your call, so _SHUT UP._” 

TJ froze. He heard his mom saying _‘Honey’_ disapprovingly, but all he could focus on was on his dad’s scowl. His arm ached warningly. Surely, his dad wouldn’t – not in front of –

But, lately, his dad seemed to be doing a lot of things that he’d never done before, and it was all TJ’s fault–  
“Ok,” Reed said, breaking the tension. “I’m in.” 

His dad took a deep breath and nodded at Reed. He didn’t hear Cyrus say anything, but it seemed like he’d said ‘yes’, too, because his dad nodded again and cleared his throat.  
“Well, you’re two, so–”  
“We can take turns,” Reed suggested, “so we can work around our own after-school stuff.” 

What after-school stuff? TJ frowned: all Reed did was belong to the assclown club. But then Cyrus was speaking.  
“I can do Tuesdays and–”  
“I prefer Reed.”

He risked a glance to his right. Reed was giving him a death glare; Cyrus looked hurt. He didn’t know which one of those made him feel shittier, so he stared at his dad again.

His dad’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his fierce eyes boring into TJ–

Time stopped.  
“When do we start?” 

Reed’s voice shook, but it successfully drew away his dad’s attention, and time started moving again. TJ mentally thanked Reed.

\---

His parents lied through their teeth the next morning, making TJ wonder how many times they’d lied to him successfully. But that didn’t matter: the principal, the school counselor and the school nurse all fell for it and assured his parents that they would do everything in their power to help TJ ‘during these difficult times’. They offered to provide emotional support while he recovered from his ‘illness’, to arrange afternoon tutoring sessions with his teachers, and to allow him to rest in the nurse’s office whenever the pain, fatigue or muscle cramping became too much.

Metcalf also told his parents that, although his suspension from the basketball team had been revoked, he thought it best to keep him off the team for a little while longer. The surprise on his parents’ faces had been almost imperceptible, but it had been there.

And his parents didn’t even look at him, and that made it even worse: they’d deal with this at home. He looked at his clasped hands, and his eyes watered, but no one noticed.

Or maybe his dad did because, when they left the principal’s office, his dad’s hand roughly grasped his shoulder. It was just for a couple of seconds, but it was enough to set his still sore side on fire.

Would it burn again that night?

\---

“Rhabdo – rhabdomy – myolysis?”  
“Yeah.”  
“It does sound serious,” Reed mused, chewing off the end of his Twizzlers. TJ let out a breath.  
“It kinda is – it can lead to kidney failure and stuff.”

Reed groaned, putting his face in his hands.  
“I don’t really have it,” TJ said, frowning. Reed looked up at him.  
“No, but you did." Reed sighed. "I would kill you, but I don’t think your parents would appreciate that." 

TJ rolled his eyes.  
“Thanks,” he deadpanned. Reed shook his head.  
“No, you don’t understand. You were gonna _die_ of dumbassery…” Reed put his face back in his hands. “Seriously, you are nothing like Sam." 

Rage lapped at the edges of his heart.  
“Stop comparing me to him.” His voice was quiet, but his fury was evident. Reed brushed it off.  
“I’m not. I just said you’re nothing like him.” For a moment, TJ thought that he’d get his anger under control, but then Reed, irritated, continued. “You’re worse.” 

TJ lunged.

But Reed had expected it, and he easily shoved TJ off, taking advantage of TJ’s precarious position on the couch to push him to the floor. Losing his balance, TJ’s back connected painfully with the coffee table on his way down, and Reed kneeled above him, his hands holding TJ’s wrists against the carpet.

Hissing at how Reed forced his arms to extend, TJ thrashed around in pain, but Reed didn’t let go.  
“Want me to tell you why?” 

TJ felt tears pooling in his eyes, so he squeezed them shut, trying to tune out Reed. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t because Reed was closer now – Reed’s breath was on his face. And, this time, Reed didn’t smell like chocolate.  
“You were brave, telling your parents.” 

TJ’s eyes flew open, taken aback by what Reed had said. Where was Reed going with this? A few stray tears escaped, gravity making them roll down, toward his ears. Reed stared at them intently.  
“You were brave, asking for help.” 

Reed glanced at TJ’s lips for a second, as if steeling himself, before meeting TJ’s gaze. TJ swallowed.  
“But Sam did that, too.” 

TJ stopped moving.  
“Sam asked for help, but he also accepted it. Why won’t you?” This time, Reed’s eyes didn’t leave his lips. “You have all of us at your disposal. Being brave isn’t trying to beat this alone.” Reed licked his lips. “If you don’t let us in, you’ll lose.” 

For a moment, all TJ was aware of was the blood rushing in his ears, the warmth of the room, the way– 

Reed leaned down and kissed him.

It was gentle, barely a brush of lips, before Reed let go of TJ’s arms. TJ was too stunned to react.

And then Reed was staring at him again. TJ's brain immediately made the connection: was this the fear that Reed had felt that afternoon so long ago? But then Reed whispered “I don’t like you like Cyrus does,” as if trying not to scare him more than he already had. And it worked, until Reed softly spoke again.  
“But if this is what you need…” 

Reed’s thumb carefully caressed his cheek, and this time the kiss was a bit longer, a bit firmer, a bit – a bit everything. And Reed’s lips, warm and plump and so, so soft, slid against his own and Reed tilted his head, making them fit better. And Reed tasted like strawberries. Reed tasted like strawberries and affection and getting better and being strong. And Reed tasted like – like so much and nothing at all.

And it took forever, or maybe not, but TJ’s arms circled Reed’s neck, and the kiss broke, and, overcome with emotion, TJ hugged Reed.

And Reed hugged him back tightly, lifting him up the floor and moving them both until TJ sat, sobbing, in Reed’s lap.

And they didn’t kiss again.

They didn’t have to. 

\---

All his dad did that night was yell at him a bit and send him to his room, but TJ wished that his dad had done more, that his dad had done worse, that his dad had broken his arm into small, jagged little pieces, because that would’ve taken his mind off of his last conversation with Reed. And he would have preferred the pain to having Reed’s voice bouncing around in his head, because TJ wanted –_he needed_– to ignore Reed’s compassionate lies to not crumble in on himself–

But his brain kept repeating them anyway.

So he gave up and took out his phone, writing a two-letter word to Reed.

_Ok._


	14. Sundering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stared at her. How could she ignore how his eyes filled with tears, how his voice was breaking? How could she be so unfeeling when he’d told her that he couldn’t down it, not after everything that’d happened?  
But she wasn't moved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might not have been hidden, but it will still come to light.  
(A big thank you to butimalsonothappy and Quizlet in the end notes.)

He knew that she was frowning at him, but he couldn’t make himself take the pill from her hand.  
“Please, mom,” he begged. “I can’t–”  
“You have to.” 

He stared at her. How could she ignore how his eyes filled with tears, how his voice was breaking? How could she be so unfeeling when he’d told her that he couldn’t down it, not after everything that’d happened?

But she wasn’t moved, and she took his hand and deposited the medication in it all the same, insisting that he had to take what the doctor had prescribed.

So it was no wonder that he hated Dr. Goodman at the moment – he didn’t need some fucking anti-anxiety meds to control his “withdrawal-induced anger” or whatever, because he was doing it just fine on his own. And, besides the fact that he now wanted to punch the guy’s face into oblivion, and ignoring that he’d briefly wanted to pummel Reed the day before, he’d kept himself under control pretty well so far.

He tore his eyes from his mom’s, clenching his free hand.  
“You’re not leaving until you take it.” 

TJ sniffled, rubbing his nose.  
“But I’ll be late for class–”  
“And?” His mom’s frown deepened. “You know you have to take them twice a day, and you already want to skip a dose?” 

He shook his head, sniffling again, but when she passed him the glass of water that’d been on the counter, he let out a watery chuckle.  
“Can I have some juice instead?” 

That seemed to confuse his mom, but he wasn’t about to tell her that he’d swallowed the addys with water, and that the thought of taking this pill with water as well made him gag.

And he also wasn’t about to tell her that he was waiting for her to turn around so that he could pocket the medication and throw it out at school.

But she was smart, not taking her eyes off of him as she dumped the contents of the glass in the sink before opening the fridge to get the plastic jug. He had to suppress a groan.

And he had to suppress a sob, tears almost escaping his eyes, when the glass of juice was pressed into his hand. And he had to suppress a dry-heave as he put the pill on his tongue, though it went down easily. And he had to ignore the bitter aftertaste –was it bile?– in his mouth, so he wouldn’t vomit in his mom’s car.

But he couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t–

So the pill escaped his body in the bathroom closest to the school’s main entrance, where he threw it up.

\---

Reed met him at his locker before second period. It seemed like Reed was nervous, but TJ couldn’t really tell, his eyes still puffy from him having puked his guts out earlier. TJ could tell, however, that Reed looked worried when he came closer.  
“Hey, dickhead…” Reed’s voice was soft. “You ok?” 

TJ nodded, exchanging his Math book for his Physics homework, but Reed’s hand on his shoulder was a sure sign that he hadn’t been convincing. And maybe he didn’t want to be convincing. Maybe he just wanted someone to talk to about how all this shit was messed up.  
“So now you’re gonna lie to me?” Reed scoffed. “You know you suck at it.” 

Reed was right. TJ bit his lip.  
“They–” TJ swallowed and tried again, praying to God that he wouldn’t start crying in the middle of the crowded hallway. “They’re making me take stuff.” 

Reed furrowed his brow.  
“Stuff? What kind of stuff?” 

TJ shook his head.  
“Come on, man, you gotta tell me…” As usual, Reed was starting to freak out. “Are – the pills?” 

TJ licked his lips, torn between nodding and shaking his head again.  
“Not the ones you think.”  
“Oh.” Reed sounded a bit relived. “Which ones then?”

TJ shrugged. Reed shook his shoulder.  
“Dude, don’t–”  
“Some pills Cyrus’ dad gave me.” Reed’s grip on him loosened – why? “For… for withdrawal.” 

The bell rang.  
“But he’s a doctor. They must be good for you.” 

TJ ran a hand over his cheeks, drying them, and Reed’s squeezed his arm.  
“I can’t swallow them, I can’t. I–”  
“You’ll get used to them–” 

TJ brushed Reed’s hand off and stepped back, suddenly feeling exasperated.  
“I won’t. I couldn’t even keep them down this morning.” 

Reed took a step closer, but TJ moved away again. The bell rang a second time.  
“You – just tell him you need to change them.” Reed said, distressed. “Maybe there’s, like, a liquid version or something.” 

TJ gave him a sad smile.  
“Seriously?”  
“There’s gotta be a way. If he told you to take them–”  
“We should be in class.” 

And TJ turned, slowly walking away.

\---

He strode outside during lunch to avoid Reed, settling himself in the shade of a tree to the south of the gym, his arms around his legs, his forehead resting on his knees. The day had been long enough already, and it wasn’t over yet. TJ sighed.

And he didn’t want to think of, well, anything, but his brain wouldn’t quiet down. It wouldn’t shut up, his mind stuck on the healing bruises on his arm and back, and on the fear and shame of the whole thing, and on Reed kissing him on his living room floor…

TJ shook his head, but he couldn’t shake off his confusion.

Because he’d liked how Reed had stroked his face before their breaths mixed, before their lips slotted together, before their tongues slid against each other. He’d liked how Reed tasted both the first and the second time, although both times had been so different, and both times he’d wanted more…

He screwed his eyes shut–

Because he’d enjoyed it, but it didn’t feel like he liked Reed. Yeah, his face warmed up at the thought of what they’d done, and his chest ached, but it was nothing like what he felt for Cyrus. Maybe it was like Reed had said –he’d been excited about “having a hand down his pants” though Reed’s hands hadn’t even come close to them– but nothing else.

Nothing else, and yet he wanted to make out with Reed again…

\---

_Who was the leader of the Akkadian Empire?_

TJ stared at the question. He thought that, so far, he’d done quite well, and he still had enough time left. He bit his lip. Was it Hammurabi? No, that was the Babylonian dude, and Nebuchadnezzar II was the leader of the Neobabylonian Empire, so–

_The leader was Sargon._

Yeah, that was probably right. Reading the next question, he bit the end of his pencil.

_What was the difference between Paleolithic times and Neolithic times?_

Ok, he appreciated that Ms. Neill was staying after school so that he could retake his Ancient History midterm, but would it have killed her to write the questions in order when she made his exam? He rolled his eyes.

_Paleolithic times had wanderers and gatherers, and Neolithic times had hunters and communities._

He knew he was forgetting something, but it didn’t matter. He excelled in this subject anyway, so a couple of wrong answers wouldn’t affect his grade much.

He still ran a hand through his hair, huffing. He knew that he knew the rest of the answer. What was it again?  
“Are you ok, Mr. Kippen?” 

Startled, TJ looked at his teacher.  
“Yeah?” 

Wait, he hadn’t meant that to come out like a question. She looked slightly concerned.  
“We can stop now, if you like…”  
“No, no, it’s fine.” He gave her a small smile. “I’m just unsure of an answer, but I’m fine.” 

She pursed her lips, but she went back to whatever it was that she’d been perusing. He sighed and followed her lead, looking back down at the page, tapping his pencil nervously against his desk. He only had a question left, so he might as well answer that one and then come back to this one. Nodding to himself, he bit his lip again and read on.

_What do archeologists think when they find beaded necklaces and toys among ruins?_

Shit.

\---

Reed was waiting outside for him when he finished.

And then he noticed that Cyrus was standing next to Reed with a hesitant smile.  
“Hey, fuckface,” Reed happily greeted him, like if TJ hadn’t kind of broken down in front of him that morning. Well, if Reed would ignore his little scene, so would he.  
“Shithead.” 

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t feel like acknowledging Cyrus’ presence, but Cyrus extended his trembling hand awkwardly before he could dwell on it.  
“Hey, Teej.” 

TJ looked at Cyrus like Cyrus was being weird –to be fair, he was– and then shook his hand wordlessly. Reed looked at both before glaring at TJ and turning to the steps in front of the school. TJ and Cyrus followed him, and soon they were off to TJ’s house.

They were quiet all the way there, and it was an extremely uncomfortable silence, but TJ didn’t really know what to say, so he just bit his tongue and walked on. Thankfully, the school wasn’t too far from where he lived, and soon they were taking off their shoes at the entrance.  
“I’m gonna make myself something to eat–” Reed started. TJ frowned.  
“You can’t just go through my kitchen.” 

Reed smirked.  
“I’d ask you to make me something if I didn’t think you’d put soap in it.” 

Ah, Reed knew him well. TJ couldn’t hide his smile.  
“You want something?”  
“No.”  
“Shut up, fuckwad. I was talking to Cyrus.” 

Cyrus shook his head, his whole body obviously tense. TJ raised an eyebrow, but dismissed it, sitting down in the living room and turning on the TV. He heard some shifting to his left as Cyrus sat down on the other end of the couch, right where he’d sat the last time he’d been at TJ’s place. For some reason, that annoyed TJ.

Trying to control his irritation, he lowered the TV’s volume and started surfing channels.  
“How did the exam go?” 

He _so_ wanted to roll his eyes.  
“Fine.” 

He frowned, knowing he shouldn’t have snapped at Cyrus, but he couldn’t help it. Why, though? Cyrus wasn’t really doing anything to upset him, yet right now all he wanted was to raise the TV’s volume to 60 to shut Cyrus up.

But, again, he had no reason to be an asshole, so he let out a breath. Before he could say anything, Cyrus spoke.  
“I’m sorry.” 

TJ turned his whole body to face Cyrus, unsure of what was happening.  
“I was scared, and I was hurt that you’d put yourself in danger just because you preferred your other friends…” What could he even reply to that? _It wasn’t true. _Cyrus continued. “And then the pills happened, and I didn’t understand what was going on, or why you were taking them, and I just – I needed to get away from you, because–” 

He knew Cyrus was almost crying by the way the boy’s voice trembled, and he felt himself tearing up, too. He tried to ground himself, his fingers grasping the sofa cushion, but it didn’t work.

And then Cyrus was weeping again and, he wondered, how could Cyrus do it so openly? TJ blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry, too, but then Cyrus shifted closer–

And Cyrus carefully placed his hand on TJ’s.  
“I was afraid something would happen to you…” Cyrus could barely talk through his tears. “And that made me realize that I – that there’s something I need to tell you.” 

TJ swallowed thickly.  
“And I’m really scared–,” Cyrus breathed as he shifted even closer. “And I’m really sorry if this – if you–” Cyrus couldn’t meet his gaze, and TJ didn’t know if that was for the best or not. “But I have to tell you – I _need _to tell you–” 

Oh God, _oh God_–  
“That I – I don’t want to be your friend anymore,” Cyrus cleared his throat. “All of this made me realize – I never wanted to be your friend – I–” 

TJ sprang to his feet. Cyrus looked up at him, alarmed.  
“Teej?”  
“No, don’t, please don’t. Don’t do this, _don’t say it_,” he heard himself pleading, imploring, as they spoke over each other.  
“I _have to_ – I can’t pretend that I’m ok with us being–”  
“No! Don’t change us, _don’t wreck this_ – I can’t take it, _I can’t take it_–”

And somehow, damaged, undone, he found himself running to the hall, heading to his room.

He could hear quick footsteps behind him, and then a hand seized his arm, turning him and slamming him against the wall so hard that he lost his footing on the carpeted stairs, the forearm pressed against his chest being the only thing that stopped him from falling.  
“Where the _fuck _do you think you’re going?” 

But TJ couldn’t respond, not around the lump in his throat. Reed didn’t seem to care, as he continued whisper-yelling.  
“Cyrus is behind this wall, baring his heart to you–” 

_Saying it was over, saying he hated TJ, saying he’d never wanted to be TJ’s friend–_

“And you’re gonna run the fuck away? What is _wrong_ with you?”

_How many times was he gonna lose Cyrus? Because he was losing him again – he was losing him for good–_

TJ tried to push Reed off of him unsuccessfully, and Reed moved closer.

_No, he wasn’t losing Cyrus because he never had him–_

“You go back there right now or, _I swear to God_, I’ll beat _the shit_ out of you.”

_He never ever had him–_

TJ shook his head hopelessly, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself. That apparently made Reed take pity on him, because he stepped back, but he didn’t let go because they both knew that, if he did, TJ would immediately double up on himself and splinter.  
“Come on, man.” Reed told him. “Come on. It’ll be fine, I promise. Just go back to that couch and hear him out.”

TJ shook his head again. He couldn’t. _He couldn’t._

And he clung to Reed’s t-shirt and pulled Reed closer, wanting him, wanting anything to end his suffering, but Reed pulled away.  
“No,” Reed said gently.  
“_Please–_”  
“No. I don’t care how upset you are,” but Reed’s hand did not agree, moving from TJ’s shoulder to his jaw to comfort him, “I’m not making out with you again.”  
“What?” 

Horrified, Reed and TJ turned to the front door–

Where, shoes in hand, inconsolable, Cyrus stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank butimalsonothappy for helping me understand where some US people leave their shoes, where US houses have carpets, and what exams are like in US public schools' 7th grade. It's all in the little details ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> On another note, I took the test questions and answers from the "7th grade ancient world history final exam study guide" on Quizlet. In case you're curious, the answers to the test, according to the Quizlet flashcards, are the following:  
1\. The first one is correct: the leader of the Akkadian Empire was Sargon.  
2\. TJ's answer ("Paleolithic times had wanderers and gatherers, and Neolithic times had hunters and communities") is correct but incomplete. What TJ is missing is that the Paleolithic times are called the Old Stone Age, and the Neolithic times are called the New Stone Age.  
3\. If archeologists found beaded necklaces and toys among ruins, they might think that the people there had enough food to survive, so they could spend their time making toys and jewelry. (Yeah, I couldn't answer that one with something other than "they were artsy"...)


	15. Cracking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were frozen in place and he couldn’t fix it, because his world had been destroyed, his heart had ruptured. And maybe time had stopped and he hadn’t noticed, or maybe he was just so overwhelmed that his brain was no longer processing what was happening around him–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it's Cyrus' turn to break...

They were frozen in place and he couldn’t fix it, because his world had been destroyed, his heart had ruptured. And maybe time had stopped and he hadn’t noticed, or maybe he was just so overwhelmed that his brain was no longer processing what was happening around him– 

But he snapped out of it when he stumbled: Reed had stepped away from him, looking frantic.  
“Cyrus–” Reed’s panicky voice could barely be heard over their ragged breathing, “Cyrus, listen to me–”  
“You made out with him?” 

TJ couldn’t answer, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the tears spilling down Cyrus’ face, nor from Cyrus’ intense stare.  
“You made out with him?” Cyrus repeated, but TJ couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t react– 

Reed could, and Reed did, taking another step forward. Cyrus didn’t seem to notice, his attention on TJ and TJ alone.  
“Did you?” 

And TJ was too dazed to tell what Cyrus was feeling from how the boy sounded, and TJ had no idea of what Cyrus wanted, except the truth, so he nodded–

Realizing, far too late, that he shouldn’t have, because Cyrus was _imploding_, chest heaving, face pale.  
“You…” Cyrus wasn’t even blinking. “You…”  
“Cyrus, please–” Reed tried, close enough now to touch the dark-haired boy, but apparently not daring to.  
“You didn’t prefer him because he was your friend–” Cyrus croaked. 

No. _No._ Cyrus was reaching the wrong conclusion–  
“You preferred him because you’re–” 

He needed to deny it, he needed to tell him, he needed to clear this up, he needed to shake his head at least, but his body was not obeying, and Cyrus was breaking.  
“No! We aren’t, we aren’t,” Reed said wildly. “We’re nothing–” 

But Cyrus turned to Reed, his face pained, whimpering “he made out with you”.

And then Cyrus let his head drop forward, his whole body rocking with sobs.

And Reed extended his hand to touch Cyrus’ shoulder–

Cyrus jerked away.  
“Please, Cyrus–” 

But Cyrus didn’t let Reed continue, his gaze on TJ again.  
“I – I’ve been – And you must have thought–” But Cyrus wasn’t using complete sentences, so there was no way for TJ to know what to say. “But I never wanted you to – not even –” 

It was like if Cyrus couldn’t get the words out or couldn’t make up his mind on what to say first. TJ was convinced, however, that, whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.  
“And I was about to–”  
“Listen,” Reed said, trying to hold onto Cyrus again. Cyrus drew back, turning to face Reed.  
“I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know – I never meant–”  
“Cyrus, please–”  
“And to think I–”  
“Cyrus–  
“I didn’t–”  
“_Shut up!_” 

Even TJ was shaken by how loud Reed had shouted, the sound almost reverberating in the narrow hallway.  
“You’re getting it all wrong!” 

But Cyrus didn’t reply – he simply stared at Reed, wide-eyed, before bending over to slide on the shoes that had slipped out of his grip.

And Reed extended his arm yet again. This time, Cyrus didn’t move away, but he did right himself quickly.  
“I swear we’re not a couple,” Reed assured him. 

The shift in Cyrus’ face was immediate – somehow, he looked more distressed than before.  
“Did I–” Reed frowned, clearly confused, as Cyrus swallowed. “I never – I never meant to make you break up.” 

And TJ could hear Reed saying ‘no’ over and over again, trying to explain that they had never even been a couple to begin with, trying to make Cyrus stay. And TJ could do nothing but gawk at Cyrus as the dark-haired boy took his jacket, hugging it to his chest, and stepped out of the house–

So TJ just stood, silent, on the stairs.

\---

TJ wasn’t really sure of how much time passed. All he knew was that, with a couple of shoves, Reed had led TJ upstairs, helping him lay on his bed before covering him with his duvet.

And Reed had lectured him, but TJ had caught only snippets of it: that TJ should have spoken, that TJ should have walked closer, that TJ should have done something –anything– to make Cyrus understand that he was wrong. But how could TJ have done any of that, when he’d been falling apart?

And now he could feel Reed’s fingers slowly combing through his hair, trying to console him, but it was in vain (or maybe not, if TJ equated numbness to relief), and he closed his eyes, not knowing if he could sleep, not knowing if he could breathe.

\---

The sun was barely visible on the horizon when he woke up, golden rays breaking through dark blue and purple as it dawned. Reed’s fading cologne still enveloped him and, cocooned in the warmth of his bed, he briefly thought about staying home.

He had no idea what Reed had told his parents, but they hadn’t disturbed him at all, letting him sleep through the night. He didn’t feel rested, but he appreciated that they’d given him some space, because he wouldn’t have been able to hide his grief in front of them–

_How could Cyrus even think that there was a ‘Reed and him’? _

He had to admit, though, that he couldn’t fault Cyrus for assuming that, because friends didn’t kiss each other. If they did, maybe he could have kissed Cyrus instead of Reed…

But thinking about that was pointless, so he got out of bed unsteadily, his eyes misting over. He didn’t really register what he was doing as he got ready for school, until he stood up in front of the mirror: he had put on Cyrus’ bar-mitzvah hoodie. He smiled ruefully and stared at his reflection for a moment before changing into something else.

\---

“No.”  
“Come on, man. At least try!” 

TJ glared at his locker and closed it, not wanting to turn to look at Reed. If he could just–

But Reed’s damn hand was on his shoulder, shaking him like it always did.  
“Trust me, it will work.” 

TJ closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the grey metal door. It’s coolness, as always, was soothing.  
“What if he doesn’t want to listen to me?”  
“He will, dude. You know he will.”

But TJ knew Cyrus wouldn’t, because Cyrus hadn’t heard him during half their fights. He still wanted to believe Reed, though, so he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to quell the fear growing inside of him.  
“What if I can’t say anything?” 

Reed jerked TJ’s shoulder again.  
“Then write down what you want to say and give it to him. He _will_ read it. He’s too curious not to.” 

And, yeah, Reed was right about Cyrus always dying to know stuff, but Reed was also wrong about everything else, so TJ straightened up and shook his head. Reed glowered.  
“Look here, jackass: you can’t give u–”  
“_Drop it, Reed._ Just drop it.” TJ countered, his voice weary. “I can’t handle this shit right now, and if I see Cyrus crying again, I’m gonna jump off the fucking roof. So, unless you wanna scrape me off the pavement, just – just stop it, ok? Just – leave me alone.” 

And TJ didn’t care if Reed wanted to respond to that or not – all he wanted to do was walk away from Reed…

So he found himself entering the nurse’s office shortly after. The nurse did not seem surprised. Saying at once that the imaginary symptoms he described were being caused by his ‘rhabdomyolysis acting up’, she offered to call his parents so that they could take him home. TJ refused: they’d know that something was up right away.

Instead, he thanked her, but insisted that he’d prefer to lay down. When she let him, he did so, settling on his side, his eyes fixed on the wall.

\---

Hours passed, but TJ couldn’t get their conversation out of his head. What if Reed got scared –which wouldn’t be out of character for him, because he was the chillest person on Earth until it came to TJ being in trouble– and told someone what TJ had said? Would he be referred to the school counselor? Would the school call his parents in? Would they do something worse? His words had been a bit uncalled for, and he knew what they’d sounded like, however much he didn’t mean them.

Then again, at least thinking about them was a welcome respite from analyzing what had happened with Cyrus. After all, he’d had enough time to mull things over, but he hadn’t dwelled on the meltdown that had taken place yesterday…

His train of thought was interrupted by voices arguing so quietly outside the door that he could not make out the words. And then their volume rose, and he could hear the nurse.  
“I’ll ask again: where’s your hall pass?” 

He didn’t catch the reply. The nurse spoke once more.  
“No. You are out of class and if you don’t return to it now, I will report you.”

Luckily for whomever it was, the lunch bell rang. The person mumbled something, but it was drowned by the noise that the students made as they rushed out of their classrooms. TJ frowned.  
“Still, Mr. Roberts, you know that no visitors are allowed.”

Out of the many ‘Roberts’ in school, TJ knew the visitor could only be Reed.

TJ’s frown deepened and he closed his eyes: if the nurse gave in but saw him ‘sleeping’, she’d make Reed leave. And if Reed decided to wait outside until he woke up, well, he’d pretend he was asleep for the rest of the day. 

All he had to do was slow down his breathing and stop the palpitations in his chest. But he didn’t have time to do so – somewhere beyond the curtain, the nurse sighed, and then TJ heard footsteps coming his way. Seconds later, the curtain was opened.

And then it was closed again, steps receding as if the nurse and Reed had doubled back.  
“See? He’s resting–”  
“Please, can’t I stay with him? I won’t bother him, or you. I promise.” 

God, was there any version of Reed that didn’t suck? And couldn’t the nurse tell Reed to go away?

Apparently not, because the stupid curtain was opened again.  
“Ok. You have two minutes.” 

He imagined that Reed had nodded, because something shifted and then he felt a presence behind him, as if Reed was standing close to the back of his knees. He tried to relax as much as he could, hoping that he was convincing – Reed was the only person who always knew when TJ was lying.

And it was quiet for a bit: maybe Reed hadn’t lied to the nurse. Or maybe Reed was waiting for TJ to turn around or to at least stop pretending he was unconscious, in which case TJ would _not_ give Reed the pleasure of caving in.  
“Come on, shitface – I know you’re awake.” 

TJ ignored Reed, letting out a breath and loosening up his muscles so that he could continue acting like he was out cold. But Reed just wouldn’t quit: he started roughly shaking TJ back and forth by his ankle.

And TJ let himself be tossed around, eyes shut, willing to do everything but face Reed–

And then the nurse was talking to someone who’d just come in, and Reed’s hand stilled–

And different scents blended in the air of the cramped little space, and it no longer smelled only of Reed’s cologne or the nurse’s citrusy perfume–

It also smelled like chocolate, _chocolate chip_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a big thank you to butimalsonothappy for patiently answering my questions, only for me to ignore the answers provided and write whatever I wanted anyway, lol 🙈🙈🙈 Sorry - and thanks!


	16. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But TJ didn’t listen and pulled the curtain open. Cyrus turned towards the sound, surprised.  
And Cyrus’ expression morphed into something indescribable, but wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TJ can't stay anymore.  
Second to last chapter.

His eyes snapped open: Cyrus was there, just a curtain away. He needed to talk to him, he–

He hadn’t even noticed that he’d basically jumped off the bed until he swayed, feeling light-headed as blood rushed down to his feet. Reed immediately steadied him by placing a hand on his shoulder. TJ shook it off.  
“I’ve got to–”  
“No!” Reed mouthed. “Not now!”  
“But I’ve–” He tried again, still keeping his voice down.  
“No! Don’t you get it? He can’t see us together! Not after–”

But TJ didn’t wait to hear the rest, and he pulled the curtain open. Cyrus turned towards the sound, surprised.  
“TJ!” And then, his gaze moving to the left, “Reed…”

And Cyrus’ expression morphed into something indescribable, but wrong. Reed looked as if he wanted to vanish, but he waved an awkward “hello” anyway. Cyrus shifted his feet uneasily.

And then the nurse was speaking, a frown on her face.  
“Mr. Kippen, you should be resting.”  
“I’m fine,” TJ replied, a bit gruffly.  
“You aren’t. Go lay down.”  
“I can’t, I–”  
“I’m upsetting him,” Cyrus said, interrupting both of them. “I’ll go.”  
“But your headache–” The nurse started, and TJ was shaking his head, though Cyrus was stubbornly not looking at them.  
“I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.”  
“Mr. Goodman–”  
“Cyrus, please don’t–”

But Cyrus gave the closest wall a curt nod –pointedly ignoring everyone in the room– and walked out. What had just happened?

It didn’t matter: he needed to–

But he couldn’t, because Reed was literally holding him back. TJ angrily shoved Reed away.  
“What the fuck are you doing?”  
“Mr. Kippen, that language–”  
“Give him space, man. Trust me–”  
“Trust you? You’re the reason all of this turned to shit!”  
“Mr. Kippen!”  
“And you’ll make it worse if you keep insisting,” Reed replied, placing a hand on TJ’s shoulder and apparently deciding not to contradict TJ with the truth. “Just leave him alone for a bit. Let him calm down on his own. It’s too soon.”

In his heart, TJ knew that Reed was right. He knew that Reed was right, he knew that Reed was always right about this type of thing, because Reed understood more emotions than TJ – Reed understood more emotions than anger and exasperation and regret. And Reed understood Cyrus, too, though his words and actions didn’t always match the good intentions that he had towards the dark-haired boy.

But TJ didn’t want to listen to Reed. He just didn’t.

The nurse, however, didn’t get that TJ didn’t want to listen to her either, going by the way she’d been droning on while he hadn’t being paying attention.  
“–leave.”  
“What?” TJ asked, completely disinterested in her answer. She glared at him.  
“I was addressing Mr. Roberts.”

But Reed didn’t look like he cared that he’d been addressed, so TJ had no idea of what she’d told Reed. Maybe she wanted Reed to leave and Reed was disobeying her? Well, he’d want to disobey her, too, if–  
“–this instant, or I will call your parents right now.”

TJ sighed: he really had to stop zoning out randomly. What did she say?

Did it even matter, though? He didn’t want to stay.  
“Call them, then.”

Wide-eyed, Reed let go.

\---

It was _his dad_ – how did it not register in his head that those three words had shaken Reed for a reason? Because he should have stayed at school. He should have stayed instead of making himself ruin whatever was left of the relationship he had with his dad. Because they were yelling, they were both yelling; they were being too loud for TJ to hear himself, too loud for his dad’s words not to pierce him all the way to his core.  
“I can’t believe you did it again! What is _wrong_ with you?”

_What?_ His parents had gone through everything he owned, and they’d gotten rid of every addy that he’d had. They’d taken all his money away and they’d started doing random checks of his room. How on Earth could TJ have had, let alone have taken, any pills?  
“I swear I haven’t!”  
“Yet here you are, having me pick you up with a fake disease instead of being in class!”

TJ rolled his eyes in indignation.  
“I just wanted to go home!”

His dad gave him a disbelieving look.  
“_And now you’re lying to me!_ Great, just great!”

TJ rolled his eyes again as his dad backed into an empty space in the large and crowded parking lot.  
“Stay here,” his dad ordered, before getting out the car and rushing around it. What did he think was going to happen? That TJ was going to down a pill in the seconds it took for him to get out? But his dad was soon opening TJ’s door and pulling him out by his elbow. TJ couldn’t help but feel relieved that his arm didn’t hurt anymore, because his dad’s grip didn’t weaken until they walked in.

\---

Dr. Young wasn’t available because he worked with admitted patients only, so TJ ended up being seen by Dr. Anderson. She seemed even less judgmental than the other doctor, if possible.  
“Would you like your dad to wait outside for a minute?” She asked, as she drew nearer to the gurney he was sitting on.

His dad’s glare made him clench his teeth, because it was unnecessary: his dad wouldn’t have to leave because he had nothing to hide. So, looking back at the doctor, he shook his head. She raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t push it.  
“I’ll explain the next steps then. We will test your blood and urine in what we call an “amphetamine screen”, so we will need samples of both. That means that we will draw some of your blood and ask you to urinate in a cup, and we will send them to the lab. The lab will then provide the results within the next three days–”  
“_Three days?_”

Dr. Anderson turned to Mr. Kippen and nodded.  
“It usually only takes a day, but we specify that timeframe because positive results require us to run a confirmatory–”  
“So you think that he _is_ taking them.”  
“I don’t. I don’t have his results yet.”  
“But you’re saying that you need three days, so you’re thinking you’ll have to double-check.”

She smiled.  
“It’s just standard procedure.”

His dad look unconvinced, but TJ didn’t care: he just wanted to get this all over with. The doctor seemed to have the same idea, because a gloved nurse was soon sent over. As per the man’s instructions, TJ uncovered and extended his arm, closing and opening his fist to get his blood flowing. The nurse then cleaned the inside of his elbow with alcohol, before wrapping a blue band tightly around his upper arm and–

TJ turned his face the other way – there was no need for him to see this.

Thankfully, the nurse finished quickly and placed a small wad of cotton in the crook of TJ’s elbow. TJ held it there for a couple of seconds, and then the white ball was discarded and the puncture site was covered with a round band-aid. TJ then carefully extended his arm again, pulling down the sleeve of his hoodie, before bending it to hold his forearm against his stomach. It didn’t really hurt, but there’d just been a needle and a test tube and blood and– 

He swallowed, images suddenly flashing in his head of tubes –not syringes, _tubes_– drawing blood out of–

_No, no, no, don’t concentrate on that, don’t concentrate on that, don’t concentrate on–_

The nurse was talking, the nurse was talking–

Oh, right, the other test. He had to take another test. They needed another sample; that’s what the doctor had said, right? They needed another sample, and, by God, he was going to provide it. So he numbly got off the gurney, struggling to keep his mind blank, stumbling after the nurse. Where was he going?

It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter as long as he wasn’t held down, as long as something wasn’t smeared on his collarbone, as long as his chest wasn’t perforated–

But they were there, they were there, they’d reached the bathroom, they had, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t–

He was puking,_ he was puking his guts out–_

The nurse was rubbing circles on his back as he held onto white porcelain bowl _for dear life_, as he knelt on cold tiles, as he–

\---

His dad didn’t ‘buy it’. His dad didn’t believe that he’d come apart. His dad didn’t accept that he’d been kept in the ER for observation for an hour because Dr. Anderson was worried that he wasn’t ok. His dad didn’t care, and his dad was still seething as he drove, ranting about drugs and addictions, now apparently fully convinced that TJ was a drug abuser.

But TJ couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but ignore his dad, as he tiredly sagged in his seat, his head throbbing. He concentrated on the houses that they passed and not on his dad’s irritated voice, wishing the day would soon be over. He couldn’t tune out his dad, though, when he heard that he’d been grounded.  
“_What? Why?_” TJ asked, the fire in his throat moving down to the pit of his stomach. “What for? I didn’t do anything!”  
“Don’t you start with that, you–”

His dad didn’t finish the sentence. TJ huffed and stared out the window again, until they got home.

Which is how he saw that his mom was alone, waiting for them at the door. TJ couldn’t tamp down his annoyance, because, _seriously?_ Had his dad seriously made her end her piano lessons early? Why, if his dad had told him that he’d have to stay in his room all afternoon? How would having a kid ask his mom to teach them how to play a Top 100 song, while pushing down the black and white keys in a mangled rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, have any effect on his punishment?

He tried to hide his frustration, but he wasn’t sure that he was successful. His teary-eyed mom either didn’t notice or didn’t care as she engulfed him in a hug. For a moment he felt comforted, but then she spoke and his heart ached.  
“Again?”

_God, no, not her, too.  
_“Mom–”

It was like if she hadn’t heard him: she just stepped back, shaking her head.  
“It’s ok. It’s ok.” Her grip on his arms tightened. “We don’t have to talk about this right now.”  
“But mom–”

She sniffled, drying her tears with her hands.  
“Don’t worry, we’ll do better this time. It’s not your fault.” She sniffled again. “We’ll get you all the help that you need: doctors, meds, treatment centers, anything.” A strangled sob left her throat before she continued, hugging him again. “We’ll do everything we can. You’re not alone in this.”

But TJ _wanted _to be alone – anything was better than facing his dad’s wrath and his mom’s pain. He wanted to nudge her off and disappear; he wanted to avoid seeing how much he’d hurt the amazing parents that he’d been given – however much of a dick his dad sometimes was. He’d caused them anguish time and time again, and he’d done things that they despised, and, soon, he’d make them hate him, because how could anyone keep loving such a fuckup? He turned to shit anything good…

His mom eventually eased her hold on him and led him upstairs by the hand. His dad followed them and searched TJ’s room thoroughly –every nook and cranny where TJ could have hidden addys– as he’d taken to doing after TJ had told them everything.

TJ let his dad do as he wanted, plonking down on his bed to stare at the ceiling.

\---

At 5pm, he could no longer lay still. He wished that he had had the pills stashed somewhere so that his parents could have found them. After all, if they wouldn’t believe that he was telling the truth, he might as well start taking them again. And, if they really believed that he was still taking them, maybe they’d just send him away: his mom _had_ mentioned ‘treatment centers’. Maybe they’d grown tired of him and all his shit and they were getting ready to let him go.

If that happened, then they wouldn’t have to worry, they wouldn’t have to bear with him any longer, and he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. All they had to do was ship him off somewhere far away from them.

And then he’d also be far away from Reed.

And far away from Cyrus.

Far away from everything.

But he didn’t have any addys left, and there was no way he could get them again through Jeremy, because he knew Jeremy wouldn’t believe him if he said he’d run out. Plus, he had no way of seeing Jeremy anyway, because his parents had made him take a leave from the gym until he “got better”. There had to be some other way to–

Maybe he could–

After all, they might not be ready to throw him out, but he _could_ leave. He could go somewhere on his own. Or maybe it’d be enough for him to just slip out of his room for a few hours: if his dad had thought that he could take the pills while they exited the car, his parents would probably believe that him leaving the house for more than sixty minutes meant that he had relapsed.

He looked around his room, pondering both options.

No, he couldn’t stay here. He picked the first one.

So he took his drawstring bag and filled it with clothes comfortable enough for the erratic spring weather, and then he changed into something plain that wouldn’t call attention to himself as he bolted. His phone pinged as put on his sneakers, and he looked at it with a frown. Should he take it?

Where would he charge it, anyway?

A chilly breeze blew in when he opened his window, ruffling his hair and making his eyes sting. He bit his lip and climbed out.

\---

He had to go to the swings one last time.

He didn’t want to admit to himself why that was so important, but he had to. And every car, every street, every store, every tree, looked dull as he sprinted towards the park, his lungs burning from the exercise. The slight discomfort was a welcome distraction, though, as he could no longer lie to himself: he was more afraid of seeing Cyrus than he was of the reckless decision that he’d made.

But he didn’t see Cyrus. In fact, he didn’t see anyone, because the park was seemingly empty.

Still, he walked to the playground, cool wind moving through the leaves. The chains creaked quietly when TJ let himself collapse on ‘his’ swing, tears slowly filling his eyes.

He wouldn’t get to say goodbye.

_He wouldn’t get to say goodbye._


	17. Crashing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An hour had passed, maybe a little more, when he decided that it was time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before the Epilogue.

An hour had passed, maybe a little more, when he decided that it was time to go. He stood up from the swing and looked to the sky, drying his face and biting his lip: his stomach was clenching painfully. Maybe it was because he was running away with no clear idea of where he was headed. Maybe it was because he’d really wanted, but failed, to see Cyrus one last time.

TJ swallowed thickly, shaking his head –it’d do no good to dwell on that–, and he let out a heavy breath, focusing instead on just putting one leg in front of the other over and over again. The mulch crunched under his feet as he advanced (_one, two, three, four_), but taking each step was harder than taking the one before it, and, soon enough, he felt drained. He sighed: at this rate, his knees would soon give out.

He took another step.

\---

The sun was low on the horizon, almost gone, the sky glowing softly as sunlight faded and dusk arrived. The streetlights hadn’t turned on yet, though it was getting darker, and, lost in the twilight, TJ suddenly felt very alone. But he had to do this, he had to, so he pulled at his bag’s drawstrings, lowering his head to keep his face from freezing, and closing his fists to keep them warm. He was unsuccessful. Still, he walked on.

He walked on to nowhere, to anywhere, not looking, not knowing, not caring, and it felt like it took him too long to reach the lake in the middle of the park. How would he go any further, if he didn’t even know where to go?

Thinking he might as well determine it now, he trudged closer to the water’s edge and sat down.

He had no money, but he’d packed light, so he could walk – if his legs didn’t betray him, that is. He had no food, but he didn’t mind not eating, as his anxiousness would not let him eat anyway. The closest town was about 25 miles away, which was farther than he’d ever gone on foot, but at least at night he wouldn’t overheat, and he would hopefully not find anyone that’d recognize him and take him back home…

_Home. _It dawned on him: he couldn’t go back home now, he couldn’t. His parents would’ve already noticed that he was gone, and how could he face them now that they’d finally been relieved of him, now that their problems had ceased?

Because that’s what he was: a problem. That’s all he’d ever been. He’d been a bully and a disappointment and just plain evil for no reason at all. He’d become addicted to pills that he had no business taking, he’d been involved with guns, he’d assaulted Reed –_his best friend_–, he’d–

He’d caused Cyrus anguish, though what he’d actually–

It did no good to think of that. He’d better go.

He got back on his feet and hid his numb fingers in his hoodie’s pocket. It didn’t help, though: he was starting to shiver. So he opened his bag and got another hoodie, putting it on, knowing that he probably looked like an idiot. At least he felt warmer.

He decided to keep his head down against the harsh wind and started walking again. It wouldn’t take long to reach the outskirts of town. Maybe an hour? And what was an hour when one had time?

\---

But his legs betrayed him. His fucking legs betrayed him, and he knew it the minute they did because a glance out of the corner of his eye had clued him into where he was. He was back on the street that he’d been avoiding, the street that he didn’t want to set foot on. He was back at the place from which he wanted to hide. And there were other places that he didn’t want to be, but this was probably number one.

Tears sprung to his eyes. He couldn’t really blame himself for taking this route on autopilot, because it was the shortest way out of Shadyside. Still, he couldn’t fool himself: he could’ve walked up the next street just the same. He bit his lip, berating himself as–  
“TJ?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, but he couldn’t lift his gaze.

It didn’t matter, though: Cyrus was here, Cyrus was definitely here, standing somewhere to TJ’s left, close to the street corner two houses away from Dr. Goodman’s place, somehow identifying TJ though TJ’s head was hidden under two hoodies and his clothes were a mess and–

TJ bit his lip harder, unable to think about anything but how, if they just spoke, he would be able to skip town without regrets.

He tasted blood.

And he heard Cyrus moving closer. Something rustled.  
“What are you–”

Cyrus faltered. The ensuing silence was awkward. Cyrus tried again.  
“You haven’t gone home yet?”

TJ blinked, still looking at his feet, unsure of how to answer, his bag now a heavy weight on his back. He shook his head.

Cyrus’ next words sounded weird.  
“But it’s late…”

Was Cyrus concerned? Licking his bruised lip, TJ shrugged. And Cyrus took one step towards him, and TJ saw the edge of Cyrus’ shadow as the streetlight shined on both of them. Cyrus seemed to be carrying something in his hand.  
“Are you ok?”

TJ nodded. There was some movement, but TJ was unsure of what it was–

And then a white shopping bag was on the floor next to him, and Cyrus’ fingers were loosely placed on his forearm.  
“TJ?” Cyrus’ hand moved lower, before softly squeezing TJ’s wrist. “Look at me.”

Feeling like the warmth that was seeping through his sleeves was setting him ablaze, TJ raised his eyes. Cyrus had furrowed his brows.  
“You’ve been crying.”

Of course: his eyes were probably puffy and he was still misty-eyed. Could he blame the cold?

TJ nervously buried his nails in his palms. Would they bleed as his lip did? Cyrus’ voice brought him out of his thoughts.  
“What’s going on?”

Cyrus was staring at him intently, and he felt himself wither under Cyrus’ gaze. His throat dry, he was barely able to reply.  
“I’m just – I’m gonna go away for a while,” he said. It was true.

Cyrus looked surprised.  
“Alone?”

Feeling trapped, he tensed up.  
“No,” he mumbled. Cyrus was clearly unconvinced.  
“Then where are your parents?”  
“Home.”

The brown-haired boy’s eyes softened.  
“Is that why you’re out?”

TJ swallowed, his eyes watering. Was his last conversation with Cyrus really going to be full of lies? But, if Cyrus kept questioning him, he’d have no choice but to continue spouting untruths.  
“Where are you going?”

Well, that he couldn’t answer, seeing as he’d no idea of his destination, other than knowing that he’d have to walk 25 miles to reach it. He had to say something, though. Anything.  
“Why? You coming with?”

Cyrus frowned again. TJ tried to breathe – the more he spoke, the more chances he’d have of mucking it up.  
“Sorry, I’m just–” TJ squeezed his eyes shut, his voice trembling. “This is just–”

But he couldn’t continue. He’d lied enough.  
“Do your parents know where you are?” Cyrus asked kindly. TJ gave him a sad smile. “They might be worried.”

TJ let out a wet chuckle – he doubted it. But how could he explain why they wouldn’t care? How could he explain what was happening, what he was really doing?

His smile slowly disappeared as a thought struck him: what _was_ he doing? Why was he standing here, talking to Cyrus as the night advanced, when he had such a long road ahead? At this pace, he would never get there, because he’d never leave.

And he had to. He had to go. He had to. It was what was best for everyone. But he wouldn’t be able to leave if he kept thinking about it – he had to do it now or he never would.

So TJ opened his eyes and abruptly shook Cyrus’ hand off, taking a step back. Cyrus’ expression immediately changed, alarm marring his features.  
“TJ?”

But TJ couldn’t reply. Why did his voice always fail him when he really needed to speak? TJ felt –more than made– himself turn away.   
“TJ?”

And he knew that Cyrus now knew what was happening, that Cyrus knew what he was about to do, just by the tone of Cyrus’ voice, but he couldn’t answer, and he couldn’t stay, and–  
“Teej?”

TJ flinched: Cyrus had called him that 27 hours ago, but it felt like it’d been _weeks,_ and. it. hurt. They were nothing anymore–

No, Cyrus had said that _he’d never wanted them to be anything in the first place._ Why was Cyrus torturing him now? Was this retribution for all he’d done? Because he couldn’t take it, _he couldn’t take it_–

He had to go, he had to go–

And he couldn’t, _he couldn’t_–

So he ran.

He ran, he finally ran, he ran away, wind biting his face while his insides churned, his heart pounding from his mad dash or from his desperation at how much it hurt to have Cyrus near him when they were no longer close or–

He didn’t know, he didn’t know, so he just ran. He ran, he ran, he ran, hearing hurried footsteps behind him, hearing the wheezing getting louder, knowing that he was being followed, knowing that he was breaking, knowing that, if he stopped, he would shatter–

But then his legs were betraying him, _his fucking legs were betraying him again_, making him loose his footing, making him trip, making him stumble, making him pitch forward and crumple to the ground so suddenly that he couldn’t move his arms quickly enough to break his fall–

Pain blossomed from where his face and chest met the pavement, his scraped hands pressed under him, his whole body throbbing, weighted down–

Weighted down–

Weighted down by something heavier than his drawstring bag–

Weighted down _by a sobbing Cyrus_, under whose weight he’d buckled.

And TJ was bleeding, his lip split, the side of his face on fire, but he was burning for an entirely different reason–

He couldn’t take it, though, he couldn’t take it, so he pushed Cyrus off of himself and tried to lift himself up on all fours. The world tilted. How hard had he hit his head? He was shaking, he was nauseous, he was shaking–

And Cyrus was pulling him down again.

Cyrus was pulling him down again at an awkward angle, Cyrus was pulling him into a hug, gulping air, weeping unintelligible words, most of which sounded like “don’t”. And TJ tried to pull away, and Cyrus’ hold loosened–

And, before he could move, before he could even think of moving, _Cyrus’ lips were on his._

Cyrus’ lips were on his and his world was now tilting for a different reason, his eyes closing to shut out everything but how it felt to have Cyrus’ hands pulling him closer by the nape of his neck, by his right shoulder, bunching up the soft fabric of his hoodies as he kissed him–

And his arms held him up, not to try and escape, but to avoid crushing Cyrus, to avoid pinning Cyrus against the pavement, however much he wanted to–

And Cyrus’ lips were not chapped, they were not chapped, not at all, and they fit perfectly against his, and they moved as desperately as his–

And this felt better than anything in his life ever had, better than anything he’d ever done–

Especially because–

Especially because Cyrus tasted like what TJ’d always imagined, like he was supposed to, like–

_He tasted like chocolate, chocolate chip_.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’ve reached the end of this story. Thank you for staying with me for so long.
> 
> Summary:  
When he finally fell on his side, he felt more winded than he had while he was running, and his hand latched onto Cyrus’ because he couldn’t bear to let go. Was this a dream? He had hallucinated before…

When he finally fell on his side, he felt more winded than he had while he was running, and his hand latched onto Cyrus’ because he couldn’t bear to let go. Was this a dream? He had hallucinated before…

But this was real. _This. was. real_. Cyrus, warm, hiccuping and breathless, was really lying next to him in the middle of the street, apparently not caring about being run over. Neither did he.

And tears were streaming down his face – he could feel them as they cooled his temples, as they wet his hair. He’d go through everything that had happened all over again if it meant that he’d end up with Cyrus. If it meant that this was the way everything would be fixed.

His chest and knees throbbed from hitting the pavement, as did his skinned palms and cheek. For a moment, he wondered if Cyrus had hurt himself too when he’d slammed his body against TJ’s to stop him from leaving town, but it didn’t matter, did it?

So he heaved a deep breath and turned his head to look at the brown-haired boy. He wondered if Cyrus would meet his eyes when he told him, and he felt himself shake as he uttered the words.  
“I’m sorry.”

Cyrus did, in fact, turn to him. He was still crying, but noiselessly.  
“I’m sorry, too.”

TJ swallowed.  
“I’m sorry for everything”, he continued, and Cyrus nodded.

And TJ’s heart sped up again as he wished –no, _as he desperately hoped_– that Cyrus would agree with his next words.  
“I love you.”

And Cyrus did agree, saying “I love you, too.”

\---

They walked to TJ’s house in silence, bumping shoulders, holding hands, leaving the stupid plastic bag behind. How would Cyrus explain to his dad that he didn’t have what he’d been sent out to purchase, after he’d been out for so long? And how would TJ explain his absence, and his injuries, to his parents? What would they say and what would they do when they found out that he’d tried to run away?

But being so close to Cyrus, _being_ _so_ _loved_ by Cyrus, put everything else in perspective: their reactions were unimportant, as long as Cyrus never pushed him away again.

So he walked home more serenely than he maybe should have, his life put back together, his whole being no longer shattered, enveloped in the wonderful aroma _of chocolate, chocolate chip_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the delay: after the last chapter I got really sick and had to have heart surgery. I’m doing well now, though, and so I finally published this epilogue. I'm really humbled by all the hits and kudos this story has received, and I’m really thankful for all the comments - they’ve brought me joy.  
Wishing the best to you and yours,  
Maia_Nebula.


End file.
